


With You

by Ydream08



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Magic, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ydream08/pseuds/Ydream08
Summary: Pansy Parkinson's life has recently stopped being a mess. She was content with it. It was routine. Until it was not. Ever since throwing away her engagement ring, she never remembered ever hating a ring more than this one.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel / Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Careful not to hurt Love, the young woman picked him up with her newly manicured hands. He indignantly purred, disgruntled at being manhandled.

"You little beast, didn't you miss me?"

The answering meow was louder against the far-away noises of the late night street. Silence was a close friend of loneliness, and it was the last thing Pansy Parkinson liked. Especially after the War. One of the reasons she had been unable to refuse Love when dear Theodore Nott, her old school friend, had mentioned he was looking for a home to five kittens.

Soft-hearted she was not, at least not _entirely_ , and it would have been foolish to accept _five_ kittens. Living off on her own was hard enough. One kitten, she had ended up taking in.

Closing the door of her quaint apartment with an elaborate nudge of her heels, then getting out of them, Pansy made it to the kitchen with Love wriggling in her grasp.

"Not in the mood for cuddles, huh?" She released the snow white cat and let him be.

Her stomach grumbled, so taking her wand she swished it to make the ingredients get prepared ahead of her. She tied up her long black hair in a bun. Today was so humid that she was sick of her hair no matter how damn beautiful she looked in their family jewelry store.

Pansy worked in the jewelry store, _Parkinson's_ , with her grandfather, Calnuoth Parkinson. He was a craftsman, had been more than seven decades although he had not solely worked on jewelry until Pansy's father had inherited the Lordship of the Parkinsons. Pansy was more than happy working for her grandfather. Ever since falling out with her parents, he has been a constant support for her. For that, she minimilized her complaints of long working hours.

After today's _very_ long arduous day at work (her grandfather was a man of discipline, and in his absence, Pansy had to work ten times harder), Pansy was eager to get to bed, so she quickly changed clothes, then continued the usual routine of her home. She charmed her dishes to be washed after eating, picked clothes for tomorrow, removed her makeup, swept and cleaned the house (what a life it was to be without House-elves!), and finally decided on a nail-polish to apply anew. She was magically drained by the time she sat in front of her couch, so doing magic for this last chore was out of question.

Doubled over to reach her toenails, Pansy glanced at Love. He was currently licking himself.

"Did you like the colour?" At her voice, he turned to stare at her. His eyes were so striking, one blue and one green. As a half-kneazle, Love had been crossbred with a specie special to Turkey, a province called Van, where the breed gets the name. As he was part magical, Pansy believed he understood better than a Muggle cat. How to doubt that when he so intently looked at her!

Grinning at Love, Pansy shook her head. Tonight wasn't a game night. Putting away the nail-polish, Pansy stretched out her hands and feet to let her fingers dry. It was important to be patient now so her polish could dry off, although she could kill to sleep at this very second.

Her hope for going to bed straight away after this was crushed however, when Love jumped to her lap where she had laid out her hands.

"LOVE! My nails!" Her brief horror was replaced by resentment. Her nails weren't completely ruined, but she honestly hated the print of texture (at this instance, fur of Love) on her nails.

"I'm not going to leave you breakfast tomorrow, you fat thing! You are awful. Look what happened."

The look of Love's regret and his eyes begging for forgiveness could not resonate better with Pansy's irritable but intact heart.

"Argh, fine." She gave in to his meows. "Come here. I love you, too. But, you have to know that I didn't overreact. You shouldn't jump where ever you want."

Pansy petted and cuddled Love, until her eyelids were so heavy that she couldn't keep them open. She could re-polish her nails in the morning.

"Hop down; I'm going to bed."

And she did, falling asleep as soon as her eyes were closed.

Next morning, she showered and dressed. She always had breakfast with her grandfather, and he would be back today, so she entered kitchen only to give Love his breakfast. He didn't immediately eat and followed her to the door. She sent kisses to the air and promised to come back home immediately. Not that she had anywhere else to go and anything else to do.

Disapparating to Diagon Alley, Pansy stopped by the pastry then headed to the store. There were only two jewelries in this alley, and with a glance one could say which one was theirs. Classy and elegant, their store has been where purebloods frequented ever since its opening over a century ago. The store was spacious, with only four heavy-set armchairs for visitors, and lines of glass showcases housing many jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, rings...anything that one could think of.

Her grandfather was of course already there, bent over doing the fine details on his latest work. His thick white hair was combed back, his moustache and beard trimmed, his clothes finely pressed. Aging like her grandfather was simply admirable. Although he had lost his fitness, not to mention the hump he had to his back, Calnuoth Parkinson was a man that wore and carried himself as he did in his youth.

"Good morning, pap," Pansy greeted him with a smile. The answering _humph_ was enough as she knew he was currently occupied.

Pansy proceeded to the back of the store and put away her belongings and readied their small table. They always had breakfast here, which was a small space for storage and crafting both. She occasionally spent a few hours here to check the inventory, mostly by the closing hours.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" her grandfather beamed once he joined her, his deep voice rumbled. "How is my favorite granddaughter?"

" _Only_ granddaughter _and_ grandchild. So compliment not accepted, pap," Pansy rolled her eyes to which her grandfather laughed. "Also, you haven't seen me since Monday— so what, three days? Missed me already?"

"Enough time to miss my dearest. It doesn't help that you look exactly like my Amelia." That was her grandmother of course. She had died giving birth to Pansy's father. "Let me tell you, though. You have one important thing she never had: My eye and skill for jewelry crafting. Your father was just like Amelia, awful at this, I say you, awful. So I'm surprised you took after me."

Pansy smiled and started the breakfast. Her grandfather filled her in about his trip to France. He had gone to visit an old friend. It had been purely a social visit, which meant one way or the other, the topic of _her_ had come into conversation with people of certain standings, especially those who were bachelors or had close single relatives.

"You should come with me the next time, everyone wants to meet you. And besides, how much longer do you plan to stay alone? You can't turn down every suitor."

That she could do, and did. At age twenty-six, she has been really late to wed by pureblood standards, but she didn't really care.

She had cared once upon a time. After the War, marrying well had seemed like the best path to obtain acceptance in the changing Wizarding World. Of course, she had never planned to marry a Muggle-born to be at the good graces of the Ministry, but marrying to some pureblood her parents found suitable had been an idea. Bonus if the wizard was easy on the eye.

And there had been someone. Pansy had been engaged. Everything had been perfect for her family. For her as well. She had cared to wed well and be a good daughter, right? And her fiance had a name that was not tainted by the Death Eaters and rich vaults to boot. Pansy had had everything she could have ever wanted.

Well, it wouldn't be understatement to say everything went downhill in the blink of an eye.

Who would have known that getting drunk and fucking Ronald Weasley behind Hermione Granger-Weasley would do the job?

Pansy should have known; but simply speaking, she had never found herself capable of it.

That incidence was a blow to her family name that neither her fiance nor her parents dealt with well.

So, here she was at the moment.

On her own. Minding her own business. Trying to figure out what she could do with her life.

Making jewelry was the best answer at the moment. Her grandfather supplied her with more than enough money, in exchange for her diligent work of course. And he was patient and forgiving with her, considering how Pansy had screwed up everything with that engagement—in his eyes, she couldn't have done a worse job than her father. " _There are worse things than calling off a marriage, my dear. I convinced your grandmother to call off her own engagement to marry me, granted she had simply requested their family to end her arrangement, unlike how you...ahem, well, went with the ordeal. But you are young! I was young once, too, and if I were young in these times… But your father? He listened to me at the first rising of You-Know-Who and didn't get involved, but for a second time, I could no longer speak him reason."_

So, yes, Pansy was forgiven. She doubted even her grandfather's lenience could be accommodated to a late marriage though. Downside of being the last heir to their name (His plan was to change the surname of the groom).

"Pap, what would become of you if I married off?" Pansy winked, wanting to dissipate any oncoming _speech_. "Like this, we keep each other company."

"Do not find ease at that. I am nought but an old wizard. And I do not possess any elixir of life. Once you bury me, you will see how the real life is."

"Cheery." Pansy sighed; she didn't like it when her grandfather talked like that. "Anyway, got anything I can busy myself with? Or now that you are here, can I start with a new design?"

"I took out an old box of valuables. Why don't you freshen them and take inventory? We might sell a few of them. Don't forget to check their magical properties. I don't want customers returning rings because they were cursed."

That happened only once, and Pansy had been present when the ring was worn. It hadn't been her fault either. The witch had picked a ring at the staff side of the counter and worn it without consultancy. Granted, Pansy shouldn't have left it out but still. At least the witch had been a Half-Blood. The curse would have killed off her arm if she had been a Muggleborn. This way, it only took six months to heal completely (the woman's parents were purebloods, thank Merlin).

"Sure thing!" Pansy replied. "I'll do my best. Though… If they buy it, get cursed and die, unable to return the ring, there is no problem then?"

Her grandfather chuckled. "Don't talk back to me, but get to work."

Thankfully this morning no customers dropped by. So Pansy was free to arrange the store, check pieces on showcases, go over the ledgers and skim over the orders. After that did she tackle the box of old jewelries her grandfather had mentioned.

Pansy was no trained Curse-Breaker. She hadn't even returned to Hogwarts to repeat her eighth year. Taking N.E.W.T.s exams separately had been an option, too, and she had failed them without attending school. She had never imagined she would work for a living, so it had been a trivial technicality. Sure, the Parkinsons had emptied their vaults, paid the Ministry to the last knut for her father's bail and later his lawyers. Even with that, they had an adequate income with the few estate investments on her mother's name which had been spared. Pansy really needn't work a minute in her life. Her family had been well-off and she was to wed some rich bloke.

Losing all that because of a… _mistake_ (it hadn't been by mistake when Weasley put his tongue in her throat, which she had excitedly reciprocated), Pansy wished she had studied a little bit harder.

However, that had not been the end of the world. Even if the dispute with her parents were to get her disowned (which she was not. _Yet_ , at least), her grandfather's support and her vigilance since then had turned the tables.

Pansy Parkinson would call herself a self-taught Charm Specialist. Not exactly a Curse-Breaker, but one close to that who focused on charms and curses interwoven to the material of any object, but gold and gems in particular. Of course, her grandfather taught her the basics, to later she added textbook readings and practice on actual objects.

One thing Hogwarts had contributed to her was a good Charms education. Learning to magically apply make-up and do basic cleaning charms had been the fundamentals.

"Did you start with that box?" her grandfather called from the inside. He smoked his pipe there so customers wouldn't see.

"On it!" Pansy answered, which was true as she was at the third necklace of the box. Half an hour more passed before she started the fourth piece. It was a golden ring, much like a marriage band. Its surface was so clear and smooth that Pansy was surprised of its lack of blemish. She knew it was old, not that the gold gave it away, but because the metal chain it was attached to was rusted in places.

She placed the ring on the table without touching it and put away the box to make space. First thing she would do was check for any curses that would activate on contact. It would be amatoruish of her to think she would be burned if she touched it as most of the fine rings had curses that generally affected once worn. However, Pansy had an ominous feeling about this ring. She didn't know why. Perhaps because it reminded her that she was undeniably single, and would be for some time.

It was harrowing to be around and sell wedding jewelries, had been worse when Pansy had first started to work here anyway.

"Pansy, I forgot to ask you! Will you go to Burke's? My package must have arrived."

At her grandfather's voice, Pansy jumped up and went to the back room. "Sorry, paps. Didn't hear it. What did you say?"

_Right, a package_. Pansy went back to the front, took her cloak and bag. She was just about to exit when it came to her that she forgot to put away the ring. She didn't want some random customer trying it on.

"Stupid," she mumbled to herself as she made her way to the counter. She took out her wand and cast a simple levitation spell.

There was an explosive hiss, like water splashing into hot oil, and her wand hand was paralysed for a split second when she realised the ring had reacted to her spell.

It was like in slow motion as she registered what happened: the ring shone faintly red, mid-air where her spell was broken, and Pansy, the idiot she was, reflexively reached out to catch the ring with her free hand.

During her catch, the ring had accidently caught in her knuckle and doing a fist she only pushed it further into her finger.

Then, fast as a clap, momentarily canceling both her vision and breathing, Pansy Parkinson vanished from the face of earth.

* * *

It was a pub that she came into, standing but not oriented, Pansy first took in the dim light, tankards of drinks and a bar table to the left. Where the hell was she? A commotion at the other side of the place got her attention, and listening in, she caught a few yells:

"Yer see that?"

"The Hobbit took us by fools"

"What queer hobbits, those Shire-folk!"

"One moment he was singing and dancing, then he vanished from sight—like magic!"

Really, what the bloody hell was this place? Not the jewelry store, that for sure. She hadn't Disapparated accidentally or anything.

Pansy recalled the damned ring, sure that it might got something to with it, she immediately took it out of her finger and stashed away in her bag. As she did so, a man to the left corner behind her stirred. Taking a glance, she caught his expression of mild startlement and curiosity. She dismissed his presence; what Pansy wanted least now was to deal with random strangers. Looking around and noting the odd outfits of the people here Pansy thought again: Strangers who were possibly Muggles at that.

Muggles! Shock and disgust quickly placed at the bottom of her stomach. There was no other explanation to how alien she found this place. No House-elves to do the cleaning, not a single levitated tray to give out orders, and no wizardry trace at all.

Pansy hid her wand in her cloak right away.

Heading to the bar table, Pansy looked around for someone in charge. Might be because the commotion had not yet died down, there was no one in sight.

She huffed, not one to wait around, walked towards where she thought was the exit. Outside was worse, if possible.

If she needed a clear evidence she was no longer in the Diagon Alley, here it was!

The unattended cobblestone was the first indicator, though Pansy couldn't decide whether that was only worse for her heels. Where the road headed she couldn't tell, as it was dark past evening and the air was thick with clouds. Must have rained recently as well by the look of the various ponds all over the place. Also it smelt. Not the soothing after-rain scent, but it mixed with the smell of wet animals… Looking around to spot a stable, where she could pick out the back of a horse, Pansy understood the source of the smell as well.

Walking a safe distance to be out of sight, Pansy did the smartest thing to do at the moment. Go fucking home. Disapparation rules didn't require one to know where they _were_. Lucky that. Because she couldn't care less.

"It is odd that here is night, though," she whispered to herself. A horse nearby neighed in answer. "Salazar! You scared me."

Talking with Love was one thing, but with a random horse was just plain weird of her. Pansy shook her head and took her wand. She should go to the jewelry store, and before her grandfather noticed her absence, visit Burke's to take that package. She could deal with the ring later, which most definitely was a portkey of sorts.

As she had already held her wand and doing the damn spell, Pansy would have expected to have Disapparated midst her thoughts of hurry to catch with her chores.

"Are you kidding me?" she hissed, staring at her wand as if it could be broken. She tried to Disapparate but nothing happened. Not even a trace of magic.

In a moment of irrationality, Pansy wondered if she was rendered magicless. Pansy's grandmother on her mother's side used to love sharing such terrifying stories when she was but a child, which were all about witches and wizards losing their magical abilities overnight. She would say their magical cores would be depleted. If any fool of a cousin of Pansy asked, "Like a vampire's bite?", her grandmother would sneer and whisper, "Worse." Then, a grin would appear in her wrinkled face upon the children's gasps. "It would mean a Mudblood is born. Those lowly births steal our magic, deplete us and render us to filthy Squibs — nothing more than a Muggle. That is the worst offense against a pureblood who has a right to magic. Imagine losing your powers in the blink of an eye. Would you like that?"

Pansy shook her head to get rid of the ancient memory, especially not wanting to recall how she used to cry at that part ("I love my magic! I don't want it stolen!"). Her grandmother was not very much liked in her family, Pansy's mother being the first to go sour over the mention of her. Pansy never used to be a fan either.

Though for a split second, Pansy wondered if it was possible, whether she had lost her magic just like that. And whether it was really because what her grandmother had said… _Fuck that old hag,_ Pansy thought and reprimanded herself to be a tiny bit of smart. Sure she hadn't wanted to use her brain when she fucked Weasley, but right now she very much wanted reason with her.

She halted, took a deep breath, and it helped to remember the ring she had accidentally worn which was most definitely cursed. That could easily explain why she couldn't use magic and was transported to—

Wait. Who said she couldn't use magic, if she tried a spell other than Disapparation (she had taken the licence at her second try anyway), perhaps—

_Lumos_ , Pansy thought and her wand was lit in a heartbeat.

"Oh, Merlin, thank you, thank you, thank you…" Pansy's headache now was because she couldn't Disapparate for some reason. Merlin knows why.

She used _Nox_ and wondered what she could do now. Disapparation was out. She was in a Muggle neighbourhood hence none of the fireplaces would be accessible. Portkey was not an option at all, so that left broomsticks and the famed Night Bus.

Pansy never liked the Night Bus as it was a commoners' transport, but since she couldn't see any broomstick lying around…

Pansy huffed, then found a proper road that she prayed the Night Bus would pick up. She looked around to check if she was alone, and concluding perfectly that there was not a living soul outside in this cold, she took out her wand and pointed outwards.

The road was empty save for a barrel or two downturned by the edge of it. Some puddles reflected the moonlight, and from that the road gave away how unkempt and dirty it was. It was not a road for a bus, but Pansy had no choice but to hope that it did not matter where she was for the Night Bus. The magical transport would come to any witch or wizard in need.

Having been standing there for what felt like half an hour, her wand stretched out, Pansy doubted the bloody bus would be coming.

She didn't want to cry, but Pansy was utterly fucked.

"Bollocks," she whispered, casting Lumos and swishing her wand so that the lighted tip would get the attention of the Night Bus which must be on its way to get her. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Pansy stashed away her wand and thought that she had little else to do than return to the Muggle inn. At least there she could ask for directions. Even if they were Muggles, they could point out to London easily enough.

In her way to the pub, just by the doors, Pansy collided with two figures, both nasty and ugly. They were shocked to see her, a second later annoyingly pleased (Had they never seen a woman before?), but Pansy was honestly disgusted and irritated by their uncouth and medieval appearance. Not to mention that she had had enough for today.

Muggles were so _barbaric_ and Pansy doubted they would understand even if she explained them where they did wrong. For example, not fucking apologizing for running into a lady.

Agitated, Pansy sneered and shoved the two enough to make herself a way in.

There weren't as many people now as she had been here at first. Some had left, she supposed, though she didn't recall anyone else passing by her outside. There were three tables occupied at the moment. One of them was sat by six to seven men, short and burly who were heavily bearded even for her standards— Pansy had seen half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, for Salazar's sake! That was saying something.

Pansy would have looked away immediately if it were not for the glint of various jewelries the group wore.

Mostly there were rings, but she could see beads with rubies and emeralds woven to their hair and beards, and also many golden chains on their necks. If she could get a closer look, Pansy would love to ask where they purchased them. But sense told her not to strike up that conversation, especially when she noticed weapons hung about their belts. _Axes,_ Great Merlin help her! What was this place? She had heard Muggles used such primitive weapons when she was young, but definitely they wouldn't need them in a pub. Right?

Reluctantly Pansy returned to the bar. As if on cue, the occupants of another table sprung to their feet. Not that it made much of a difference, the three people were so...small even standing. How old were they?

One of them walked past her and she watched him till he closed the door of the pub behind him. The other two talked with a man who looked to be the owner of the pub, and then climbed the stairs.

While she was looking one way and the other dumbfounded, Pansy felt that she was being watched. The source of the familiar feeling turned out to be the man at the corner. The one she had seen first thing arriving here.

She couldn't perfectly make out his face as he was hooded but his eyes were striking as they caught the faint light: a blue so vibrant that Pansy had to admit she found it attractive.

The hooded man was talking to someone, a dark brown haired man -more like a boy- whose face was clean and open. He had big blue eyes that, with his overall appearance, gave him a juvenile and trustworthy air. Those two could have not been more opposite in looks.

Pansy cocked her brows at the persistent stare of the mystery man, then walked to the bar as she had initially planned.

Behind the counter there was a fat and sweaty man who had an apron tied around his round belly. He had warm face and a jovial smile, but his haste made him skittish, which Pansy did not quite like. It had been a trait she was taught to squash since childhood.

"Good evening," Pansy said with a huff, her annoyance was because of her dire situation, but as a last thought, she forced a sugary smile. "I was wondering if you could tell me where here is, and how I could go back to London?"

"Oh, dear, good evening to you as well young lady! Haven't seen you at all, please accept my apology if I failed to attend to you. Had you wanted a meal, or a place to stay? Oh goodness, what a terrible host I have been, but I hadn't seen you arrive! You have to pardon me, it must have been because of the mess here."

Pansy's effort to keep her smile was indeed admirable. "I don't require your hospitality, but thanks anyway. I asked you how I could go back to central London?"

"London? I have never heard of such place! And I know quite a few places from Dale of East to Rohan and Gondor of South. I'm sure you can not find no London in North either; and to the West there is only Hobbiton."

At the gibberish of the man, Pansy scowled. What in the name of Merlin was he talking about? Surely, he must know of London.

"This is England, for Merlin's sake! Even a Muggle must know London—" Realising the start of an outburst, Pansy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then tried again. "Please, kindly point me the way and I'll take my leave."

"Sorry, miss. Here is Middle Earth and I have not heard of that place you are seeking. If you are lost and in need of aid, I would gladly give you a room for tonight. Darkness has fallen already and it is dangerous times."

Middle-Earth? Pansy did not know of any Middle-Earth. Not in England, nor in the whole UK anyway.

"You must be mistaken," Pansy concluded. Her deduction eased her immediately, why hadn't she thought about it a moment ago she didn't know. She was always so quick to flare, a trait that was failed to be drilled out of her. "Is there anybody here I can ask who knows their way around better?"

"Perhaps I could help," came a sure voice.

Pansy turned around just when the stranger was removing his hood. Those blue eyes that had left an impression on her throughout the night had been a hint to his handsomeness, but Pansy fell short of words at realizing how attractive he indeed was. He was ragged and looked poor, yes, and Pansy Parkinson actually prefer men of high standing and better taste in clothing, but she could not deny this stranger the advantage of his broad shoulders and Quidditch player-like physique, angular face, and dimpled chin. And there was a look of him, something in his expression, that immediately jolted her core. Not magical core, mind you.

"Go ahead upstairs, Mister Underhill. I shall join you shortly," spoke the stranger man again but this time to the short companion of his from the table, who had also come to stand next to them.

Mister Underhill left them be, so the stranger turned back to Pansy, observing.

"Yes?" Pansy prompted the man to speak, her brows high in her forehead in disbelief.

"Of course, if anybody could help you, it must be the Strider!" cried the fat innkeeper from behind. "Oh, dear lad, help out Miss—"

"Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson," Pansy provided with haughty disdain.

"...help out Miss Parkinson, yeah? I tried my best but I seem to lack the answer she seeks. If even you fail, oh Strider, then I must insist I should go ahead and prepare her a room."

"Strider?" Pansy remarked as the innkeeper hurried by her. "Is that a name? Why don't you give me your real name so I can trust you in the first place." Not that she would. But it wouldn't hurt to get a name to his handsome face.

"I am called Strider, among many other things. It should suffice for now, as I doubt there would be any need for us to further acquaint."

That was harsh. And an old-fashioned way of talk. But still harsh and for no reason at all. Pansy scowled involuntarily. Men did not talk to her this way, especially those with whom she met for the first time. Such disrespect on social occasions was never tolerated.

Then again, Pansy was not in the company of a pureblood wizard.

Crossing her arms, Pansy sneered. "Right. And I guess you learned manners from elves, did you not? At least they have the mind to punish themselves for such disrespect." The slip was unmistakable (the mention of elves to Muggles) but Pansy hardly cared in her anger.

The man, Strider, was confused a moment, but a smile cracked his face. A reaction Pansy was not expecting, thus her sneer morphed into a deeper scowl.

"Well, make no mistake, I did not fully understand your meaning, but I shall thank you anyway. Elves indeed taught me many a useful things."

Mad, this man was. But how come he spoke of elves when he was so clearly a Muggle?

"Wait— are you a wizard?" Pansy asked, all her dislike of the "Strider" forgotten.

"That I am not. But I could help you still."

It would not be a lie to say Pansy was disappointed. The relief that she wasn't currently breaking the law of Statue of Secrecy eased her headache, but it wasn't enough considering that she was talking with a Squib at best.

She should get the direction to London and mind her own business. It would never do her any good to interact with the wrong sort.

"Yes, _please_." Pansy drawled, but reminded herself to behave amiable. "I just want to you tell me how I could go to London? I could even manage a Muggle transportation as desperate as I am."

And she was. She could not Disapparate for Merlin's sake!

The Strider did not immediately reply. His silence was unnerving, although his dropped gaze gave her the opportunity to admire his face unknown. Shoot, she shouldn't be doing that. Why would she care that he had so long lashes?

Again, that tingling close to her core. Salazar curse it.

When he glanced back at her, he shook his head. "I apologize, I can be of no help. I know not a place by that name, and I have travelled far and wide. Wild or civilized, there is near no place in Middle-Earth I have not visited. Except for Mordor, of course."

"You must be kidding me," Pansy mumbled underneath her breath. She wiped her face and let panic speak without filter. "Is this a joke. How can you not know of London? It is the fucking capital city! Heart of English Wizarding World! Surely, even a Squib would know the entrance to the Diagon Alley."

Pansy knew they wouldn't. Children who would not manifest magic by age nine would not be let out of the house in pureblood families. Even in Half-Bloods, they would not be brought to the magical street after their status became clear once their Hogwarts letter was failed to be delivered.

Sharply taking a breath in, Pansy tried to reign in her anger which fuelled the throbbing of her head. What was this, a nightmare?

This "Strider" must be nothing but an ignorant fool. He would be of little help, just like the fat innkeeper. She had to find someone to help her, truly help her—not spout some nonsense.

"You said you are not a wizard— but do you know one?" Pansy asked this time. If only she could owl her grandfather…

"Gandalf the Grey is the only wizard I know."

"Gandalf _Grey_ , right." Pansy didn't know of such a wizard, or that family name. Not a pureblood, then. Nevertheless, dire situations called for desperate measures… "Where can I find him?"

"I have not heard of him for a long time."

"And?" Pansy pressed. The Strider was not a man of many words.

"I do not know."

"Great," Pansy replied and masterfully ended the conversation. Her huff of annoyance did little to change her predicament.

She had expected the Strider to leave, but the man continued to stand there. He keenly observed her, from head to toe, and a scowl appeared on his harsh face.

"What?" Pansy asked before he could get a chance.

"You appeared out of nowhere into this inn."

The matter of fact statement expected an explanation but Pansy did not give one.

"I saw the ring you hid," he added.

Pansy remained silent. She owed no explanation to anyone.

The Strider narrowed his eyes.

Pansy shrugged and faced away to dismiss him. Leave, he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Not that Pansy was asleep (it has been four hours since she retired to this room, meaning four damn hours of tinkering with the useless ring for bloody _nothing_ ), but the banging on her door surely gave her a start.

"Who is this?" she asked to the closed door. No way in hell was she opening it; her wand was at the ready. Pansy had to think twice about potentially using it though. Lost or not, attracting Aurors for using magic on Muggles would be disastrous, and could be the last thing she did before she really got disowned.

"Lady Parkinson, open the door now!" came the urgent voice of the Strider, she would not mistake him. He sounded insistent.

Pansy thought about her options.

If she went ahead and hexed Strider, and Aurors Apparated here that very second to catch her, there was no discussion that tomorrow the news would be front page in the Daily Prophet along with a few adjectives like Muggle-hater, Pureblood elitist, Death Eater-supporter and so on. Between all of that, not including the bit about how she had wrecked the marriage of the war heroes (Granger and Weasley) would be nice of them in fact, and quite impossible.

Another downside of this option? Pansy had a good hunch that if such news ever got printed, her parents would disown her for good. There was no doubt that they wouldn't be furious at her.

Then, of course, there was Azkaban on the line first. Realizing that repercussion, Pansy was quick to come to a decision. _No magic,_ she reminded herself while lowering her wand.

"Tell me one good reason–"

The knock resumed over her, so she couldn't help but think: They could excuse her for self-defense, though, right?

Following a thud the lock of her door gave in. Pansy gasped and cleared the way. Instantly Strider stepped in and clasped her forearm.

"Come, there is no time to explain!"

Oh, she wouldn't be dragged away like this! Fuck her parents, fuck even Azkaban! Who did he think he was, this Strider? Manhandling her this way! Such humiliation...

"I'm not coming anywhere, with or without explanation. Take your hands off me!"

Pansy was just about to cast a hex when Strider abruptly stopped, turned and caught her off-guard with how he took hold of her free arm too, and immobilized her. She shrieked at the motion, the incantation of the spell died on her lips, as trapped as she was in the Strider's presence.

She could see each crease of his skin, the roots of his beard, colours of his irises. Ridiculously she noticed the allure of his eyelashes. Blinking, she tried to look anywhere but his face, but aside from the small peaks of the inn room, all else she saw were the Strider's broad chest and layers of clothing covering it.

This was far too close for propriety, and Pansy never experienced such close contact with a male that she had not set her mind to seduce in the first place. It was always Pansy Parkinson who has been the tracker, hunter and _achiever_.

"You wished an audience with the wizard, right? That, I may arrange, ere we leave together _now._ "

Focusing her mind on what was _important_ (definitely not Strider and his masculine scent), Pansy searched his eyes to confirm his honesty. His firm expression with slight alarm to his look could only mean he was unlikely to lie. If Pansy knew one thing having been brought up in the pureblood high society, that would be that lying could be as natural as breathing to the right sort of people. She was not sure if this Strider was anything like herself.

His offer was a gamble, obviously, and Pansy was not a fool to go along with him because of a pretty face and her womanly hormones lowkey responding to him.

"That, and you will bring me back right here," Pansy added to the deal. There was a reason she had been brought to this inn by whatever magical source. If she was going back to London, _if everything else failed_ , she should come here and reverse whatever the hell - spell or curse - that has happened.

"I cannot give my word on that," he gritted out. "It is dangerous times and we are set for a place far away. It would be better if you stayed there. Much safer than here, I can assure you that."

Pansy scowled, she was not eager to basically get kidnapped. Tightening her grip on her wand, it was a split second decision to either reveal her identity as a witch (her wand was exposed with how Strider held her at the moment, come to think of it) or go ahead with whatever game that was on and let herself be dragged away.

These Muggles would not corner her like some mouse!

" _Confringo!_ " she hissed, the force of her spell sent the Strider against the wall. He yelped at the impact, but surprisingly quickly found his footing and drew out… was that a sword? A fucking metal sword? Meant for cutting people like...like a butcher?

"M'Lady, I don't know who or _what_ you are–" Strider looked alarmed for a whole different reason now. There was apprehension in his eyes as he seized her up, coupled with disbelief. He kept staring at her wand. "–but I mean no harm."

Pansy snorted at that, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "No harm? What about that _sword_? Is it for cutting _vegetables_?"

"Believe me, I mean no harm, yes, but the ones coming will. And they are after that ring of yours."

That gave Pansy a stop. How could he know _anything_ about the ring in her possession? His eyes lifted from her wand to her eyes, trying to make her understand. She didn't _understand_ , but his honesty forewarned her for the better.

"You told me..." Pansy whispered, apprehension came only now. He had commented on the ring at the main room of the inn. And previously, they had locked gazes upon her arrival to this damn place, but she had not thought how it could have looked for a person from outside. Much like Apparition, she must have appeared out of thin air. And the first thing she had done was take off the ring and hide it away.

 _He had said he saw me appear out of nowhere_ , Pansy recalled his words again, but she had been so bloody busy freaking out about going to London and this frigging ring that she had dismissed the man's knowledge.

"Yes, milady. I told you. I saw you appear by magic," he confirmed. He took a cautious step forward, lowering his sword. "They are coming for that ring, and they will not spare you when they see you are a woman. They shall spare no one."

Pansy was no Gryffindor to even think to declare she was a witch and she could duel her way out of any confrontation. That was simply not an option. Running away left nothing to be desired, but the plan the Strider presented was what she had at the moment. Staying in this inn would be a fool's idea, _if_ what this Strider said was indeed true.

"How do you know they are coming? Who are ' _they_ '? Why are they coming for the ring?" Pansy demanded.

"Come with me now, there will be time to explain later. We must be safe first."

Strider sheathed his sword and held out a hand. Pansy scowled at the gesture. She didn't like being told what to do. It was one thing to be led in a ballroom, and another to be ordered around.

"If you are lying," Pansy hissed, closing the distance between them while pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. "I will make your life a living hell. That, I can promise you."

Strider's hand closed into a fist where it hung, but it took him a few more moments to lower it. He didn't look to be agitated, perhaps slightly disgruntled, but his eyes searched hers in an absurd awe.

"As the lady says," he finally said, shrugging. Then, showed the door. Pansy gave him a sharp nod, and after taking her bag and cloak, left the room. Strider following her close behind.

* * *

A headache split her skull into two. No joking. Pansy groaned at the dull pain, but thanked Merlin a thousand times over that it was around four in the morning and nobody was awake to make a noise that finally snapped her into a rage fit.

 _Hobbits._ Fat adult-looking children, freaks more like it. They had no use whatsoever unlike goblins or house-elves. Neither creatures Pansy had ever favoured being in the presence of so these Hobbits seemed to have that in common, she supposed. But really... All they asked about was their food and journey, and more food. They were so _whiny._

Then there was a mad wizard, Gandalf Grey, who appeared far too elite to attend tonight's _grand_ meeting. He had left a letter, which the innkeeper had forgotten to deliver earlier apparently.

Strider, or Aragorn as his actual name was revealed, was a rogue wilderness lover (friend of the wizard) who was a loony for asking random questions and baiting those poor Hobbits about his alliance.

Oh, and there was a Dark Lord, Pansy learned. He wanted his ring. And his underdogs were after it. Those were the ones Aragorn had been warning Pansy about.

Strider explained to Frodo Underhill (the least ugly of the Hobbits and the one she had seen who conversed with Strider) that the child, no Hobbit, was in possession of the ring they sought. A special ring.

Of course, from where they sat, Strider - Aragorn - looked over Underhill's head to lock gazes with her, too. Pansy knew what that look meant. What that quirk of his eyebrows and challenging tilt of his chin meant.

Her ring had something to do with this, Merlin-curse-it. Whether that Dark Lord of theirs wanted more than one ring, she didn't know, but a ring was targeted. _A magical ring_. That was why Aragorn wanted her to come here, some other house in the same town, so that she would be safe. All of them could be safe in the ambush of those underdogs (Ringwraiths Pansy recalled them to be named).

Bloody fantastic.

Aragorn could be wrong about her being in danger, since they talked as if there was only _one ring_ , and the consensus was that the child Frodo had it, but Pansy had never liked taking chances. She had a cursed ring, whatever power it possessed had caused this mess she was currently in.

Not that she had revealed her business to all those fat children. They inquired about her, though.

"How do we trust who you say you are, sir? You already tricked us once. And who is this lady, listening to our private affairs?" had demanded the fattest of the children. For Pansy, they were named the least ugly, the fattest, the loudest, and the least bright. And that was putting it kindly.

The fattest had asked, the one with dirty blond hair. Underhill had called him _Sam_ , if she wasn't mistaken.

"Lady Parkinson," Aragorn had intervened, not that Pansy would have deemed that boy with an answer. "is on her own journey, a road similar to ours as she has told myself. I could not deny the lady when I told her I knew the shortest way possible, maintaining discretion. And for her involuntary involvement with your situation, allow me to say she has different concerns and shall not participate further than necessary."

Pansy had done her best not to laugh at that, or grin to spook those children, _Hobbits_ , more. Underhill, the least ugly one, seemed convinced enough with that so Pansy had watched the group brush away her presence.

It had been easily done, Pansy thought back, as the Hobbits were exhausted and quickly fell asleep.

Of course, as the minutes ticked by, Pansy had been unable to sleep. Minutes turned into hours, and now she sat by the window and looked over the blue night crowned with the moon.

Come morning, Pansy was going to ask around if Aurors had come by. This freakshow aside, she knew that the spell she had cast earlier on Aragorn should have alerted the Ministry. That was the last hope Pansy currently held onto, to find a way back to London (though she was indecisive whether she should run away without inquiring with how her spell casting had earned her a one-way ticket to Azkaban). After that, the _very_ last resort was the Grey wizard.

Though deep down, Pansy had a feeling she was very far away from London indeed.

After hours of thinking about it, failing to Disapparate no longer upset Pansy equally; of course there was a limit to the distance of the destination, so Pansy could have simply been brought via Portkey (a.k.a. the ring) to some distant country. Overseas perhaps. However, the fact that no one knew of England shot a tingling fire to her brain. It made her uneasy. It made her desolate. It made her think she was _far away_ , as in somewhere not London… not abroad…not on _Earth_... oh, Merlin, she didn't want to think about it! Admittingly existence of creatures called _Hobbits_ made her get the wildest ideas.

Resting her head against the cold window, Pansy acted to be carefree of Aragorn's silent approach. She had noticed his rising in spite of her inner turmoil.

Pansy had known he had not slept. Only Hobbits managed a deep slumber under these circumstances it seemed. However, she had thought the man would remain in his bed, unmoving as he was the past hours, and leave her on her own.

There was not much to look behind and beyond the window, simply darkness coating the fields. Her eyes were downcast, vision blurred in that nothingness, despite the fact that she knew looking up at the twinkling stars and the bright moon was an option.

Pansy didn't want that.

She wanted to be in her filthy little apartment, living the life of a poor half-disowned pureblood and die alone. That had been her life. She had loved it. She had learned to love it.

She didn't want to be in this darkness. Live in these _dangerous times_. Hear about the rising power of _the Dark Lord_. All Pansy wanted was to be by herself in her lonely apartment, and dream herself a life where she wore the finest and richest gown one could purchase in Wizarding Italy to the grandest and most prestigious event in the Pureblood society and show up in the arms of the most handsome and purest wizard eligible. She wanted to cry herself into sleep dreaming about that.

She wanted her normalcy. Her life back. All that War had taken from her.

Pansy didn't want Aragorn standing at the otherside of the window. She didn't want him to even out his breathing to match her own. She didn't want him to join her in her silence.

The stupid Muggle had come to her, seeking to lend his protection, outright grovelling and unacceptable in his poor attire. No manners to speak of! No magic to begin with! No name to even mention!

Merlin what was wrong with her? To find this man even attractive? Where was Pansy Parkinson, heiress to the Parkinsons, few of the remaining high-standing pureblood families?

Why was her life not returning to how it was supposed to be?!

"You are weighed by heavy burden, are you not, Lady Parkinson?" came a slow question.

Pansy shifted, her forehead still tangentially on the window, tears clinging to her eyelashes and one of them at the tip of her nose. She felt that stray one. She sniffed. "Wrong, Strider. Don't expect to know anything about me. You don't even get to _ask_."

There was a long silence. Her head buzzed. Pansy wanted a tissue to wipe her nose. Crying was for the weak. How low had she fallen!

Glancing furtively at the man who had not moved, but absently stared past the window, Pansy's eyes caught the glimmer of an object at his chest. It was hard to distinguish its shape, but Pansy knew a valuable jewelry when she saw one. It was white. Perhaps quarts, topaz or moonstone?

"You are weighed by a precious necklace, though," Pansy shot. The absence of the woman was an explanation enough: a token from a dearly missed lover. If he wanted to be nosy, Pansy would be nosy as well. "From a lover, I bet. Is that what she left you? Pretty enough."

"She is the one I love, yes," Aragorn replied, irritated. Perhaps it was because of Pansy's smirk that urged him to explain more. "It is very precious to me. _She_ is very precious to me."

"Where is she?" Pansy asked immediately. Jealousy soared and clutched at her heart, digging its claws to urge inquiry.

The shift in the air, the tangible shield of his feelings, explained more of his heartbreak. He murmured, "Far away."

She snorted, not that she could help it.

Pansy had been in the Battle of Hogwarts. Her brilliant idea of handing in Harry Potter had cost them, the Slytherins, to be locked up, but the upper years had found a way to the courtyard. It wasn't a pleasant place to be.

* * *

_I need to find Draco. I know he is here somewhere, Greg told me so! They must be out there duelling!_

_All the shouts, cries, spellcasting bombard my ears. My heart jumps at every explosion, but I have to find Draco. He must be in danger, that idiot! Why didn't he tell me anything? No matter how shitty he behaved to other people, Draco has always been truthful with me. Secretive, yes, but truthful. He is an ass most of the times, but I loved him regardless._

_Where is he?_

_I see a brutal kill, nothing I can distinguish from this far away, but… I get closer to look. Is someone being bitten off? Literally? What is wrong with Avada Kedavra? Why get all that blood and gore on your outfit?_

_Then, I see who it is: Greyback. That lowly birth. Monster._

_He sees me as well. I don't know why he looks at me intently; but I register that the body falling from his grasp has blonde curly hair. I can see the outline of someone feminine._

_His next steps are toward me. I gasp, my mind drawing blank at what to do. I see him coming, he is getting closer, his jaw is open, claws out, and he is almost running on all fours…_

_I am yanked away by something, and next, a spell blinds my eyes. I feel secured by a hand over my chest, pushing me behind, and from across the shoulder of the person I notice that Greyback has been blasted off across the yard. That was a bloody powerful spell._

" _Are you alright, Parkinson?"_

_I raise my eyes to look at my saviour, without him I would have been werewolf meal. Not only that, as I heard from my parents of Greyback's tastes, being bitten off would be a kind death. Why that scum sided with the Dark Lord- or rather, why did the Dark Lord let him be his lackey, I never understood._

" _Parkinson, it's not safe, you should hide."_

_His voice brings me back. I'm looking at Thomas. Can't remember his name. The black Mudblood from Gryffindor._

_I glance back at where Greyback had been blown away._

" _That scum was going to kill me," I murmur. Shite._

_Draco, where are you!_

" _I'm sorry, Parkinson, I can't stay…" Thomas was saying now. "I just saw Lavender...and I had to do something because you were… whatever. You chose your side."_

_He walked away, ducking from spells as he ran._

_I should… I should go, but my legs don't move._

_Where am I supposed to go? Draco wasn't here with me… Forget him, only Salazar knows where my parents are! And what am I to do here out in the open? Shoot spells? I failed DADA two years ago and dropped the lesson!_

* * *

Pansy closed her eyes to the assault of the memory. She hated being helpless and alone. Looking back, she didn't think Draco ever loved her, or even cared about her for that matter. Her parents had not been on the Hogwarts grounds that day as well; they had fled the country, thinking she would be safe in the school under Snape's care. They had said it to be a holiday to the courts. Such hypocrisy…

So, yes, it was funny that now, this man standing next to her, was pining over some lover who was far away. Pansy doubted the woman cared whether Aragorn was in peril. Why leave him to his fate if she loved him?

It was said in the magical lore, that the strongest love built a bond that, much like a miracle, a Disapparation could follow and find the destination of.

"If she loved you, she wouldn't be far away," Pansy whispered. It was true. If she learned one thing from the twenty-six years of her life, it was that those who loved you always found a way to be close. That was why she was alone. Nobody loved her. _Not that she loved anybody_.

"Love cannot be measured by mere distances," Aragorn countered calmly.

Pansy blinked, coming back to the current moment indefinitely. She turned to him. He looked out the window still. The only difference from moments ago was that he clutched at his necklace, the pendant unseen in his big hand.

It took some time for him to remove his gaze from the outskirts and look back at her.

"If you believe that, it is sad," Pansy explained. It was one thing to think one was unloved, but other to think one was loved but never able _feel_ it. What was it to gain from love that wasn't there when you needed it? "Days pass, _years_ pass, while that distance might not ever be removed. Then what? Is it enough to _believe_ you are loved?"

Her parents never kissed her, hugged her, made _contact_ with her. The most that ever transpired could be the faint brush of her mother's hand when in company. Or a nudge, or pinch. Those were to warn Pansy.

Her grandfather only ever patted her back, for a job well done. That was fine. It made him Pansy's favorite relative by far.

Her fiance of one year, all those years back, had not touched her once. Not even a kiss on the back of her hand in greeting. Perhaps a handshake, she hardly remembered with five years having passed.

She had sex with Draco and Weasley, and a few blokes after that. And truthfully, regardless of how temporary those moments had been (mere hours) they had been the only times she remembered being loved. Skin contact. Primitive, but a solid proof of she was capable of being loved.

 _Far away_ meant no skin contact. _Far away_ meant no words to be exchanged. _Far away_ meant eyes unable to find each other.

Then what?

"That distance… Is it enough to satiate your heart? Your soul? I might be a wretched person," Pansy thought back to how she had spoken out to give up Potter. She had humiliated that Mudblood Granger countless times. She had called names. She had laughed at many people, even at those she said were her friends. She had fucked Weasley, knowing that he was married. She had yelled at her parents, told them to die and stuff their wealth somewhere (among many other things). She had even stolen/borrowed a necklace from her grandfather's store (but put it back after wearing it overnight).

Pansy tried to control her wavering breathing, then spoke again. "I might be a wretched person, maybe I deserve to never find love (Merlin decides that), but even I wouldn't wish on someone something as cruel as being _deprived_ of the person you love _for the sake_ of love while _believing_ all that time that you are actually _being loved._ "

His hand no longer held his necklace. He held onto the window sill and looked at her. Pansy wasn't sure what she saw in his face. As a scowl furrowed his brows, she guessed him to be both shaken and angry.

"Whatever," Pansy spat, angrier at herself. "Goodnight."

A grasp on her wrist stopped her, but she didn't find his eyes looking at her when she spun around. His eyes were fixed where his fingers closed around her wrist. Pansy felt the skin there heat. It was a firm hold; it hurt.

Aragorn released her, then sharply turned his back.

Pansy was frozen on her spot as she watched him lean over the sill of the window. His head sagged. After a few moments, the side of his face peeked out but she hardly saw his eyes.

"Good night, Lady Parkinson," he rasped and moved to the window.

It didn't require a genius to know she was dismissed. Blood boiling, Pansy harrumphed and went to lie down in her bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Transportation in this Merlin-forgotten-place was not to Pansy's standards.

When came morning, Pansy had managed only two or three hours of sleep when she was awoken at the noise: Aragorn had been rousing the children so that they would be traveling in haste.

Then, Pansy learned they had intended to travel by ponies. Ponies. Fucking _ponies._

Standards, Pansy learned these commonners did not have.

Of course, as purebloods, there was a stable in their grounds in Parkinson's estate. Pansy's father owned a stallion and had bought her own at the age of twelve, but they never used those animals for travelling.

The notion was absurd!

Well, Pansy perhaps could have gotten used to this oddity and accept she should ride one. If it were not for the detail that, because of those Black Riders, their mounts had been chased away last night.

So, the stable was noticeably empty. The inn was barren, the customers furious at the situation although the kind innkeeper did his best to repay for this shortcoming.

Pansy's elation at this news was short-lived, however. It turns out, for Muggles, ponies are a rather privileged transport.

Much with Aragorn's probing, the innkeeper found them one pony (as ugly and unhealthy it looked, how the animal stood on its feet, Pansy had no idea) to load their travel gear, and they were set to go three hours later.

While the loudest of the children whined for the loss of his second breakfast (how come he wasn't the fattest, Pansy didn't know), Aragorn had pointed to Pansy's heeled boots out of nowhere.

"Those won't be fit to our travel. You might wish to change."

"Change into what? Something like those hideous leathers you call shoes?" Pansy replied and ignored his glare afterwards.

On hindsight, Pansy realized the man had been right. Her fashionable boots were most definitely not produced for _bloody hiking_.

Had anybody told her they would _walk_? Nope.

Their leave from the town Bree had collected some commotion. As they walked out of the main road of the town, Pansy had the chance to get a last look over the town inhabitants. She was not a fool. The curious glances thrown her way indicated that her involvement with this mismatched group would become the gossip of the century. How could it not be? Four children, a rogue man and a classy young woman set for Melin knows bloody where… Pansy couldn't guess what they would say about the Hobbits, but she hoped they twist some story of how she and Aragorn eloped. After last nights revelations, the mere thought of the reaction such gossip would elicit from Aragorn gave Pansy a satisfying (but sick, she knew) delight.

The long hours that they walked cleared Pansy's joyous wonderings irreversibly. Especially when rain started. Rain like as if someone had turned a bucket over her head!

Before they had taken an obscure road to take a somewhat cover, the clouds overhead had crowded and turned darker in colour. They had been caught in the rain ever since. Pansy's fine coat repelled water and kept her warmer (thanks magic for that) but her hair was a mess and hands were bitingly cold.

As drenched as the rest of the group was, the hike was not pleasurable regardless of how they tried to go around the hills. The thick trees barely made space for a _forest road_ , which was nothing but a line of mud.

Aragorn was finding his way through tracking.

Tracking without any magic.

As if that was possible!

Her hair was wet. Her cheeks were cold. She was sniffing.

Pansy didn't fancy catching a cold.

" _ **My cuts, short or long, don't go wrong,"**_ Aragorn had said before they delved through this mud-ridden road.

Don't go wrong my arse, Pansy vengefully thought. If this Squib could track a frigging thing, Pansy would change her name!

Her fluctuating emotions and internal cursing of Aragorn of course distracted Pansy. When she tripped over a root (heeled boots had nothing to do with it; the bloody root was humongous and obviously a trap sat by some evil hag), it had been well into evening.

"Aw!" She cried out. "Ow ow ow!"

"Are you alright, miss?" Frodo inquired.

Before Pansy could manage a proper footing and answer him, Aragorn was beside her. He supported her with a firm grip around her waist, helping her back to her feet. Gasping, Pansy grabbed him by response, but her brain screaming that this was strictly business was not overpowering her physical reaction.

His eyes looked stubborn and expression cross.

"Will you change your footwear now?"

Pansy could transfigure them to something else, but their comfort spells woven to its crafting would not let them turn out as a decent pair of shoes.

Not that Aragorn left her to decide. He gently dropped her down to sit. "Let's call it a day. We shall awake early tomorrow and make haste."

Hobbits were fine by the suggestion and happy to take the chance to quench their thirst and hunger.

Noticing the group was somewhat unpacking, Pansy turned back to Aragorn.

His scowl looked to be deeper as if it was possible.

"What?" Pansy felt a mix of being offended and curious.

"Your clothes are dry," Aragorn muttered and his hand found her blouse underneath Pansy's cloak. When his fingers grabbed underneath the hem to check the texture and dryness, Pansy's breath caught. She felt fire lick her skin where his fingers were closest, untouching.

"How come your clothes are dry?" Aragorn asked, this time finding her eyes to demand some answers.

"I…" What should Pansy do? Aragorn knew she was a witch (though he seemed slow to make the connection) but she didn't fancy the children knowing about it. Less people to out her, the better. But, she couldn't charm Aragorn's clothes dry and warm, and not the the Hobbits'.

Pansy Parkinson was not heartless. And, it's not like the kids were blind.

"Urgh! Fine! You are so bloody irritating, you know that, right?"

Bringing out her wand, she swished it first at Aragorn, then on herself (to dry her hair and warm her exposed limbs). Lastly, Pansy flicked her wand in the general direction of the children. And _Voila!_ all were dry and warm.

"I can maintain the warming charm on the six of us, but we shouldn't need the drying charm again since rain stopped."

"What is happening, Merry? Here, touch me, I'm dry and warm!" came a shriek.

"Peregrin, it's not only you, friend! Touch my clothes! As if my ma collected them after a long laundry day under the warmest sun."

"Impossible! This is magic!" added an awed voice. Frodo, it was, Pansy guessed.

"Was it an Elf? I thought I saw one, like the first time we left Shire, sir!"

Pansy didn't get the chance to be involved in their amazement as Aragorn dropped something heavy in her lap.

"Here, milady, wear these." Aragorn hesitated before he shook it off and reached to untie her boots. For him, it was a harder task than it was. But, blushing, Pansy did not help him to enjoy the gesture. It wasn't everyday she was treated like a princess. Aragorn spoke, "Witch or not, you are a stubborn one if it took you so long to alter the circumstances according to your benefit."

Now, Pansy felt the heat rise under her skin for a whole different reason. "Again, Aragorn, you comment on business that does not involve you. I have good reasons to—"

"—Yes, it involves me," cut Aragorn. His eyes pinning her down, silencing her, as the light swirled in his blue irises. "It is as though rain has not touched me and sun has just kissed my skin. We travel together, Miss Parkinson. And such luxuries you have the power to bestow upon us, I feel gratified."

Their silence was occupied with Aragorn helping her wear the new shoes. They were good enough, and Pansy murmured her thanks to Aragorn for his thoughtfulness, but seeing that the man was unresponsive, she sighed.

"Okay," she agreed. She wouldn't be able to handle his brooding if they were going to walk days for the rest of their trip.

His striking eyes met with hers once again. "Okay, what?"

"Okay. I'll do anything in my _power_ to help, as long as it does not endanger my chance of going back home."

Aragorn did not seem ecstatic with her cooperation. His brows knitted together, looking contemplative. He closed his eyes at one point and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course," he muttered then sighed. When he focused back at Pansy, she thought he was conflicted. Salazar let her burn bound to a stick if she understood what the bloody hell was wrong with the man.

Aragorn gave an affirmative and nodded. "Alright."

The group was silent after that. When Pansy found herself a place to sleep, she realized the Hobbits had overheard her conversation with Aragorn. Not like she could hide her identity as a witch after casting those spells.

What kind of a joke is this, Pansy thought, scowling. She would have prefered coming out as a witch to some Muggles back home if it was all going to be the same.

When. Will. This. Nightmare. End.

* * *

"We are lost, Aragorn, aren't we?" Pansy sneered.

She had been right when she thought the man would fail to track without magic. He had no fault, in a way, because he wasn't born with magic. Pansy's kind of magic, anyway.

"Who cares?" Pippin, the whiny Hobbit exclaimed. "Look all these midges that bounce off me? Are you killing them off Lady Pansy? Is it like an invisible wall of fire surrounding our skin?"

Pansy huffed. With how many questions this Hobbit was asking, Pansy had been right (again) to call him a child. She, at least, reserved patience to tolerate dear Pippin though she sounded snappy (Pansy had sworn she would be the polar opposite of her mother, in the first place, so she way _trying_ ).

"No, Pippin, I told you it is a repellent. It isn't everyday I cast a spell like this, you are lucky I even remember it."

Pippin hummed in content, but even his admiration dimmed as they spent the whole day going through the marshes and in the countryside.

Once they camped overnight and Pansy informed them she could not maintain her magic through the night, it became clear their little insect problem would not go away.

After hours of being bitten and spooked out of her skin because of noises deep within the forest, Pansy decided to lay awake and cast her charms.

It wasn't like she had the most amazing sleeping schedule back home, so from experience she could say her stamina would last at least a week even if she continued to cast basic spells like these. Maybe give or take one to two days.

Those nights, until she tired herself into sleep, Pansy would occasionally get the feeling that Aragorn was awake with her. Although the man never stirred, Pansy could swear to Merlin he was alert. Short of poking him or making conversation, there was no way of finding out so Pansy let him be. It was not as though she would take the first step.

At their fourth night, Pansy was proven right when Aragorn shot to his feet in an agility unbelonging to a man who was asleep. There were flashes of light far in the distance. From what, Pansy couldn't guess. Frodo and Aragorn exchanged a few words, but Pansy didn't pry. No need to get involved, although she could hear them alright.

Come fifth day, Aragorn announced they were close to a place called Weathertop. He outline a path they could take that was far less frequented and enable some kind of privacy for their dealings.

So the walk began once more.

It took a day and half before they saw what could be called a road. Something closest to it.

" **I wonder who made this path and what for,"** Merry wondered.

"Maybe they were sick of walking in wilderness, genius," sneered Pansy. "They made a poor job, but even I can appreciate the attempt." And she did. If Pansy learned anything the past week ever since leaving that small town she found herself transported to, that these Muggles were helpless and pitiful creatures. It was a genuine wonder how they built civilizations in the first place.

Thinking back to Hermione Granger and all her talk about wizard and Muggle equality in advancement, Pansy wondered if the girl had been hit with a bludger in the head when she was a child. That or, Merlin forbid, Pansy had come to an era that Muggles were especially primitive.

Pansy was distracted from the dreadful thought from Aragorn's brief explanation on 'The Men of the West' and evil forces of 'Angmar' that they defended these lands from. He thought they were the ones to build these roads here. Apparently, there was a ruin of a watch-tower somewhere close. Pansy had no idea what the 'Last Alliance' was but a guy called Elendil (someone important, no doubt) had been present in that time in this very spot.

The poem that Sam Gamgee spoke next meant nothing to Pansy. It was merely another slap in her face that she was far from home. It kind of reminded her of listening to the tale of Hogwarts' establishments. Two wizards and two witches, all unmatched by power and wisdom in their era. Each with a different value and outlook on the world… All coming together to unite magical blood under the same roof to tutor them and protect them from foes.

" _ **Going to Mordor!"**_

The shriek shook Pansy off her daze. When she focused back on the group, the atmosphere was grim.

Aragorn snapped, " _ **Do not speak that name so loudly!"**_

They hushed into silence, scared of saying anything as tense as Aragorn seemed to be. It took them a good few hours to find a shelter close to the ruins.

When they stopped, Aragorn was quick to deduce the place had been recently occupied.

"Do you think it was Gandalf?" asked Frodo.

Pansy knew that was the wizard, Gandalf Grey. Come to think of it, the light from three days ago was in this direction. Pansy wondered if there had been a duel.

"... I do not know how the outcome came to be. However, Gandalf must have fled. Danger does not make a man laggard."

Pansy saw the marked stone Aragorn placed his hand on. "What is that?"

"We believe it a message from Gandalf," Frodo replied.

It was an unimpressive block of stone. Ordinary as any would go. Pansy hesitated only a moment before she brought out her wand. If the wizard has done this, the spell should work. " _Appare Vistigium_."

As a gust of shimmering gold erupted from her wand, both Aragorn and Frodo gasped. Frodo took a few steps back as the cloud twisted and propelled toward the rock. Aragorn, too, made space.

The spell searched for whatever remaining magical trace could be found. Pansy puffed her chest when the golden dust lighted in a shine that indicated it matched the trace.

"Watch closely," Pansy muttered. Unknown to her, she did not possess the most keen pair of eyes in the company.

In his eighty-seven years of life, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, has seen such magic for the first time with his very own eyes.

From Lady Parkison's wand erupted shimmering dust, later he determined to be gold, and Aragorn watched, perplexed, as it bent and shaped itself into his long dear friend Gandalf.

The mirage sparkled and left little to ascertain the details, but Aragorn would know the Grey wizard anywhere. His pointed hat was gone, though his staff was held firmly in front of the man. He rose his staff and muttered words unreadable by his lips.

Flashes of light cut the black evening identical to that of three days ago.

Pansy could open her eyes just in time to see, the golden silhouette bring his staff down to hurriedly carve in the stone.

The end of her magic forced the golden pieces to vanish out of sight and the trio were buried in blackness.

"We can be sure now," Frodo breathed out to the silence.

Pansy felt more than saw that Aragorn nod.

"I could direct the spell so that it shows whomever he fought with." Pansy was thinking quickly. "It has to be magical for the spell to recreate it; like it did to the wizard. But I have a feeling it could work—"

"What was that light!" came a shriek. "Are you all alright? Have the Black Riders already arrived?!"

Pansy jumped out of her skin at the unannounced presence of the remaining three Hobbits.

"The Black Riders?" Aragorn demanded. "Did you see them?"

"I think I did—" stammered Merry. " Even if I didn't _see_ them, you three sure gave away where we are! What was the light show about?!"

It dawned on Pansy only then.

"Shit," she was able to mutter just before the night was pierced by a neigh of a battle horse.


	4. Chapter 4

" _ **Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!"**_ Aragorn warned, drawing his sword in that instant. " _ **Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hand."**_

Good thing he had assigned Gamgee to set fire once they had settled for a place to camp for the night. As it seems, they would be fleeing at best chance or battling with the Riders at the worst.

The terrified squeak snapped Aragorn's head to the source, and he found Lady Parkinson holding onto a short wooden stick like it was the deadliest sword. It was not lit with fire.

"I said the _longer ones_ from the campfire! We need fire to-"

"It's my wand, you twat! I heard you the first time! And I could bloody well conjure a fire-"

Aragorn only allowed himself that short glance at the Lady. Although he was concerned with how ashen she looked, her chest heaving and outstretched arm shaking, _her snake like biting-tongue aside,_ Aragorn could not solely focus on her.

The ring was with helpless Frodo and it was Aragorn's duty to see him safely to Rivendell.

It was a split second decision to sheath his sword back, but Aragorn knew no sword of men could harm a RingWraith. His eyes darted around to find their campfire and he drew two suitable woods lit with the yellow flames. Fire stood a chance, and if he had two sources, perhaps death would evade them this night.

Now armed, Aragorn swiftly looked around for Frodo. Pippin was blindly swinging a lit stick around while Merry tried to cover his back. Aragorn could spot Sam Gamgee not far off, on guard but frantically looking for something, no, _someone_.

It was then his seeking eyes were alerted to the hasty shadows that were unfitting to the blackness of the night. There was no mistaking the plea that reached his ears to belonging to Frodo: " _O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!"_

Aragorn lept to attack, unsure where to catch the assailants, but he held the flaming sticks confidently at either hand to swing them about. Halting a few steps ahead where he had thought the shadows lay, Aragorn returned back to see if he had caught anyone, burned them if he could. However there were no sparks, let alone a person on fire. At a second check, he found that the haze had cleared and there was no shadow to speak of, as well.

"Oh, it's Master Frodo!" cried out Sam Gamgee. "Merry, Pippin, come here! Isn't this Master Frodo?"

Aragorn knelt next to Sam Gamgee where the hobbit has found an unmoving body laying face down. Gathering the clothes belonged to Frodo, Sam turned the hobbit around and everyone worriedly called for Frodo to awaken.

Noticing a wound in the little hobbit's shoulder, Aragorn knew they had no time to waste. It was a wound inflicted by a sinister weapon, no doubt.

"Take him near the fire. Keep him warm and safe."

He had to find _Athelas_ , the healing herb of the Men of the West, if Frodo wished to stand a chance against such a wound. They were far from a skilled healer who could tend to Frodo this very instant.

Aragorn had to move.

Rising from where he knelt, he noticed a person missing from their group. He counted the hobbits: There were four of them. Even their pony, Bill, was trotting by the perimeter of their campfire.

In the faint glow of the camp, Lady Parkinson was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?" Aragorn muttered, feeling his lips dry at the sudden worry at the young woman's absence.

She could be hurt.

The realization that Lady Parkinson carried a mystery ring very much like Frodo's, felt like a dagger lodging hard in his gut. He couldn't breathe for the life of him.

The Riders were after a ring.

She could be _dead_.

"Where is Lady Parkinson?" Aragorn demanded an answer from the hobbits. If not Aragorn, they should have seen her at least!

Why had he lost her from his sight? She had been right beside him only a few moments ago, snarking at him for Valar-knows-what.

The silence that met his question twisted that dagger, his insides squeezing with pain.

Remembering how they found Frodo, on the ground and unable to respond, Aragorn frantically searched the close area.

He dared not call her name, knowing full well the Riders could be close.

Gritting his teeth, Aragorn determinedly continued his search, aware that Pippin and Merry were helping. He found the last place he had seen her, having traced his own tracks back. But there were no footprints or broken twicks around that might shed light to the direction of Lady Parkinson's departure. Blood pounded fiercer in his ears as his eyes failed to find even a trace of her.

"What will become of Frodo?" Aragorn's fruitless search was cut by the voice of Sam Gamgee. "His wound is bleeding, I don't know what to do! We should take him to a healer, but where will we find one?"

Aragorn came back to Frodo's side. Angry at failing to find Lady Parkinson, but knowing that there could be help from him to someone still.

"Boil water and clean the wound. Keep Mister Baggins warm. I shall do whatever I can."

Aragorn would set out to find the herb that could help Frodo and while doing that he could trace Lady Parkinson to the best of his abilities.

* * *

She couldn't breathe. She was a mess. How could she freeze like that? Unable to do anything?

Was she not a witch? Did she not know how to cast a spell? Even a basic charm like _Incendio_! They had learned that fire-making charm in their second year, for Salazar's sake!

Why was she such an incompetent useless freak!

Yes, she was a freak. What else would anyone call a witch who couldn't do magic?

Pansy couldn't _breathe._

Sodding hell, why was she even crying? Wheezing and spluttering like… like…

Even a baby cried with a bit more dignity!

Her lungs hurt and throat burned but for the life of her Pansy couldn't stop. Her legs gave away underneath her and she found herself sitting on the ground, her back to a thick tree trunk.

Oh, Merlin! Please help her get a hold of herself!

Pansy gave up trying to stop this _hysteria_ , but as she gave in, she started to feel light-headed. Would she pass out? Drown on her own spit and die?

She didn't want anyone to see her this way. _Pathetic_ , her mother would have said. She had always scrunched her nose and dismissed Pansy at the slightest quiver of her lips as a child. _Crying is for the weak, Pansy dear. Get lost out of my sight until you learn that._

Pansy forced her hand to cover her mouth, with her other hand grabbing hold of her side, she dug her nails to flesh so it could distract her from her current state.

 _Breathe_ , Pansy reminded herself, _you have to breathe._

No more crying.

It did not happen in that instant. It did not happen in the following minutes. It took half an hour for her to calm down, if she had guess. And by that time Pansy felt spent. Her head ached and her limbs felt lifeless. She could have fallen asleep into a black abyss.

Thinking back to it, it was like a nightmare, all that had transpired.

Aragorn had been issuing orders, but the man had taken her as a fool failing to act as he said, and Pansy was not a person to shy away from a reply. Before Pansy could finish her rant, he had heroically went to grab flamed wooden sticks and ran along. That was when that shadow had emerged in front of her. If it was after the ring, it would be sorely disappointed to find that she had enchanted its container to be locked to respond only to her magical trace.

Yet it was set to attack either way.

A silly part of Pansy wished the vile thing to be a Dementor. It sounded miserable, but if that had been the case perhaps Pansy wouldn't come to the conclusion of her idiocy for failing to defend herself. Of course, a Patronus charm was a spell only a handful of wizards and witches could master in full force.

 _Incendio_ , on the other hand..?

She had to be a complete and utter failure of a witch to be unable to cast that spell.

Fire should scare them, Pansy knew as Aragorn had informed everyone. Only if she had grabbed a burning stick like those Muggles!

So, yes, Pansy Parkinson was lowlier than even a Muggle. Hurray!

"Imbecile," Pansy berrated herself.

It was like back in the Battle of Hogwarts. She had frozen that time as well. A wand in her hand, she had been helpless.

This time the difference was that Pansy had spent the past years to learn the basics of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons to be able to defend herself, unlike how she used to learn enough to pass the lessons.

Professors never cared how long she could hold a Protego charm as long as she had been able to conjure it, for example. However, after the War, Pansy understood those skills were irreplaceable.

* * *

 _"Look, sweetheart," Pansy hissed through her red painted lips at the witch who should have shown the way to their table already. The heat of shame was climbing up her spine as Pansy was aware her **society friends** stood behind her, probably exchanging knowing glances. "I don't have the time to introduce myself to a new employee like you. _Me _and my family have been a regular in this restaurant longer than the span of your pathetic life. So, if you are smart enough to keep your new job, I suggest you show us to the table reserved for Pansy Parkinson. Don't ever forget the name."_

 _The obvious tears that welled up in the poor girl_ was _rightly deserved, so Pansy only nodded and made space for the girl to scamper and lead them to their table._

 _Five of them were seated and discussing what to pick, the sneak_ peak _of the few gossips they would share slipping now and_ then, _when an older man with thick grey hair and light blue eyes stared down at them. His hands were gathered at the back, brows crossed and the man looked irritated as his eyes finally settled on Pansy._

_"Miss Parkinson," he spoke with a deep baritone. "I would like to-"_

_"Oh, Mister Lewis, your restaurant is as_ marvelous _as always. My parents send their apologies that they couldn't visit with me, but as you see, I wanted to_ dine _my friends-"_

_"Miss Parkinson." Mr Lewis sounded sterner now. Pansy was astounded how the man could cut her polite conversation. "You better leave. Your family will no longer be accommodated in any of my establishments. The famed War taught as more than a few lessons."_

_Pansy's mouth was agape, her skin aflame with what Mr Lewis has just said._

_"Of course, if Miss Sayre and her friends wish to stay we would be_ honored _to have them." Eliza grinned to the remaining three of the occupants of_ table _. The witch then turned to look down on Pansy, and the Slytherin witch knew that instant that she would be escorted out the restaurant alone._

_Mr Lewis added at last, "Miss Parkinson, I would suggest you leave now."_

_Clicking her tongue, Pansy came to a decision._

_"You have to make me," Pansy challenged. Her dignity was already crushed, in front of snobs like Elizabeth Sayre no less, so Pansy Parkinson would not make things easy for Mr Lewis. If he would have her kicked out, everyone should know how lowly he treated the member of a respected (perhaps not much anymore) pureblood family._

_No wands were drawn, which was much more humiliating on hindsight._ A security _had_ came _and grabbed her by the upper arm. In between her shrieks and complaints of the establishment, Pansy was dragged out. Later her bag and coat shoved to her arms._

_"Outrageous! I'm a Parkinson; my family has been dedicated customers for decades. And is this how you treat me? Your establishment won't get away with this, I will make sure you lose **everything** , do you hear me!"_

_At least there were no flashes of_ camera _, for that Pansy could be spared. Huffing and cursing, she wore her coat and walked back to the main route of Knockturn Alley. What did Mr Lewis think of his restaurant anyway? It was an expensive place but_ no where _the level of any restaurant in the Diagon Alley._

_Her leg burned so suddenly that Pansy tripped, hardly keeping her balance. She doubled to see what was wrong, to find her lower calf bleeding in a thin but long cut._

_"What_ in _the name of Salazar…" she touched the wound and flinched at the burn. It was a Stinging hex._

_Next, she saw the spell that was aimed at her but she was slow to draw a wand. It landed on her arm._

_"I knew I was right! That is the whore Parkinson, the one who would have sold Potter to You-Know-Who."_

_"Why have they not locked her up in Azkaban? Her family must be rotting there, along with the likes of Malfoys and Notts"_

_"Dunno. Some of them must have paid their way out."_

_Pansy could not think of a single spell to cast_ in _that moment, shocked at the conversation and the twisted faces of her attackers. They were younger than her, two boys around eighteen._

_They seemed to think the situation was somewhat similar to cornering a student in the corridors of Hogwarts, but as it stood, it was outright assault. Pansy knew how to act if something like this happened in school, but right now, any wrong move from her could mean an unfair trial._

_Would that have stopped Pansy?_

_It wouldn't have if she hadn't accepted the contract of marriage last week. It was a conditional one, and she knew for her family it was best to not disobey it openly. That meant, drawing her name into a criminal investigation even if a minor one like a street assault, was not an option._

_One couldn't start to_ image _what the Prophet could twist that story into._

_Pansy drew a breath and hesitantly raised herself upright. Her wand was still in hand but aside from retaliating the stinging hex, she knew nothing that could aid her to safely slip away._

_Here was a side-street that connected Knockturn Alley into Diagon Alley within two blocks. Her best bet would be confusing these boys and running to the safety of the crowded street across._

_Since the War, certain anti-Disapparation charms were cast around these shady streets so Disapparating away was unfortunately impossible._

_"I wouldn't go around sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," Pansy sneered at the boys. She had to buy herself_ some time _but she was already in a foul mood. "It is obvious you lack the money and means to get around an Auror investigation. So why don't you two little boys get lost before I get you locked up in Azkaban for attacking me."_

_Pansy cast Protego even before she noticed how their faces turned purple._

_She didn't need to feel the pain of the stinging hex on her face to know that her magic had failed. From her_ wand _a wisp of white had spurted, and for a second there it had hold like a shield, but it was gone in the blink of an eye._

_"You Death Eater bitch!"_

_At the scream, Pansy did the only thing that was wise._

_She turned around and ran, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain in her leg._

_Pansy knew she couldn't send a cutting charm in their way to bodily harm them, but seeing lines of laundry above their head, she_ spelled _them to fall to give somewhat of a distraction._

_It helped and she stepped into Diagon Alley without the two following her heels._

_Casting a quick Glamour charm on her face, Pansy Parkinson corrected her coat and bag. Not that anyone would give her a second glance, but she did her best to lay low as she walked to the nearest Disapparation point_.

* * *

That had happened when she was nineteen, shortly after the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. After that, nobody actually cast a spell against her but the words spat her way became crueller as her father's public trial dragged along.

In the meantime, she had been practicing numerous spells to protect her just in case.

Still, finding that those studies were in vain at the face of actual danger like in the Battle, Pansy felt conflicted about her capabilities as a witch. Hermione frigging Granger had fought in the war, but Pansy Parkinson had been unable to protect herself from two eighteen-years-olds.

And now, seven years later, she has been equally paralysed.

Pansy had not seen what that shadow that attacked her hid inside, but cold slimy fingers had clasped around her neck. There had been a hiss Pansy had failed to decipher, but as she gradually had lost the ability to breathe, she had been sure she would be finally dead. Free of the cruel world that seemed to never give her what she deserved.

Maybe, it was death she deserved.

That was an interesting thought.

However, as the shadow let go of her and she found herself heaving for air, Pansy knew she would not get lucky again to be left alive.

The shadow had not gone.

So it was smart to assume she had to leave. That very moment.

It was relieving to find that her magic accepted her desperate need of Disapparation, and she had landed where they had camped the night before.

Nearly an hour later since then, Pansy knew she should go back. There was the risk that the shadows had not yet disappeared, but if she were to stay longer here she could lose the party.

Pansy would go back to that inn in Bree if that ever happened.

Wiping away her face and burrowing deeper in her coat, Pansy thought it better to wait a bit longer. Afterwards she would Apparate back to Weathertop. If the party was there, they were there.

Absurdly Pansy felt the uncomfort that came with knowing that she was sat with a skirt. It wasn't awfully short, with it being a pencil skirt that matched with her coat in colour, but the garment comically annoyed Pansy.

Swishing her wand, she did a variation of a spell she had done very frequently as a teenager.

The charm cut and resized the skirt into slacks and knitted according to her size. It took a good three minutes to finish it, but Pansy felt the giddy feeling of accomplishment as she watched the spell in action.

She wasn't a lost cause in the end.

* * *

Aragorn returned by dawn. Shameful to admit it, he had spent hours to find a trace of Lady Parkinson even after he had found Athelas to help Frodo's injury.

He had come bare-handed in regard to the Lady.

For all he knew, she could be on her way to imprisonment in Mordor to answer Sauron for the means with which she has found that ring.

With those grey clouds hanging about him, Aragorn dejectedly returned to the camp.

So it was with great shock that he took in the scene before him. There, next to Frodo, sat down Lady Parkinson, her black locks giving the lad shade from the campfire. She had a cloth in hand, carefully wiping at the hobbit's shoulder.

Across her, Sam Gamgee stood hovering above Frodo. When Lady Parkinson gave the cloth to the nervous hobbit, he immediately went to clean it in the boiled water. Close to them sat Merry and Pippin, seemingly looking out for the camp and their wounded friend at the same time.

It was why Merry had been the first to notice Aragorn.

"You're back!"

Aragorn walked a few steps to where they sat by the fire. He noticed first that Lady Parkinson wore slacks underneath her coat instead of her skirt. Odd, Aragorn thought, but not as odd as having her in their camp in the first place. Where had she disappeared to?

She finally met his eyes and Aragorn knew the look of a defeated one the moment he saw it. There were traces of redness around her eyes, her face looked sullen and hard. She must have cried.

It angered him. Seeing her like this. He has learned she is a witch who cared little else than to return to her homeland, but even with her mighty magic tricks, she has been cornered and taken. How she has returned, Aragorn knew not. However, she should have not suffered at all. She had not known of Sauron until a week ago, and simply that was proof how unfair for her to be hurt by the hands of an evil so foreign to her.

Aragorn, on the other hand, was destined to cross paths with that evil and help put a stop to him anyway he could as the heir of Isildur.

The two should not even have crossed paths. She suffers for it now, he thought knowing that he was the one to drag her into this.

Clenching his fist, Aragorn forced himself to depart from her hollow eyes, that the soothing green colour of them on any other day, had been what he kept recalling in the forest that he has spent hours tracking her down.

His own eyes landed on a heep of black on the ground not so far from where he stood. He knelt down to collect it and saw that it was a cloak.

"It must belong to the Rider," Aragorn explained. Sam Gamgee had hastily come next to him. "Look here where Frodo must have slashed it."

There a glint of steel caught his eye as well. Crouching again, he conjured a long thin knife. The sharp end of it was broken off, but there was not much more time to examine it, as between the gasps of the party, the knife puffed into smoke. There remained only the hilt in Aragorn's hand. "I doubt many know how to counter a injury delivered by such a evil weapon. Yet I shall try to do whatever I can to aid dear Frodo."

The hilt in hand, Aragorn walked over to Frodo.

He would not have looked directly at Lady Parkinson, knowing it was more likely she already watched him, but a side glance showed she gave little interest to him. Her eyes were cast by the fire, the flames dancing in her green irises to make them glow yellow.

Aragorn was not aware how long he watched her himself, but his breath caught the moment she sharply turned to meet with his gaze.

"You were right," she provided. Her anger seemed to be directed at herself.

Aragorn was confused so he let her continue if she would. Noticing his silence, Lady Parkinson sighed.

"About the sticks. You were right. I should have listened to you."

Aragorn did nothing to confirm her confession. It disturbed him to know that she thought he would care about the righteousness of their actions under peril. He did not care to be right. He cared that she was harmed.

He would learn what has transpired.

"Are you well?" Aragorn asked instead.

That gave Lady Parkinson a start. Her pretty eyes popped open and her lips parted to answer, but Aragorn was left waiting.

"It's fine—" she finally managed to whisper.

"Are you _well_?" he insisted, unable to comprehend how the young woman was able to irritate him more under the circumstance that he was desperately worried over her well-being.

"Better, I think."

Aragorn searched her eyes, and to his small delight, the longer he concentrated on her, the more she sparked to life. Her brows knitted together and her lips puckered in annoyance. Good to see she could be back to her everyday self regardless of what has happened.

He nodded and set to take care of Frodo.

* * *

_***Bold and Italic sentences are directly quotes from LoTR: Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.** _


	5. Chapter 5

It took Aragorn a good few hours to tend to Frodo when he had returned by dawn. He informed that he has done everything he could for the hobbit, but Frodo still been in no shape to travel. Nonetheless they had to move on. They had talked about this: the Riders were after them, and the likelihood that they return at the first chance was unmistakable.

In the end, they all agreed to unload their baggages from the poor pony and switch their weight for Frodo's.

It was a smart solution alright until Aragorn offered an overfilled rucksack to Pansy.

"What?" she had asked absentmindedly. It was among the rare times that she had not picked up what was going on.

"It is your share," Aragorn explained. His eyes were raised as he held the rucksack, ready to help the straps to her shoulders. "Where do you think our rations and your sleeping bag are? Bill can't carry all if he is to carry Frodo. We must divide to be able to carry everything."

Pansy's own clutch bag hung by her hip but she had never minded carrying it. Carrying that bag that looked to explode, Pansy was not so enthusiastic for.

"No way. It is—" Pansy would have spat that it was _heavy,_ but a stern look from Aragorn shushed her.

Seeing his warning, Pansy decided to _whine_ about it (she would not bloody carry the bag), then noticed that the three hobbits and the man also carried equal or heavier loads for Frodo's sake. It was easy to deduce dear Frodo was as precious to the party as one and only Harry Potter had been to Dumbledore's people. The latter Pansy had proposed to give up to Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts, and she would admit any day that the animosity and scorn she had lived for that move had not contributed positively to her interests. People never forgot that. No matter the years that has passed.

Lesson learned eight years ago now, Pansy nodded her understanding to Aragorn about keeping silent and obliging to carry the bag. When she conceded, he softened his expression almost as quickly.

The swift change in his demeanor made Pansy unexplainably bemused. Not like she was doing it for his sake, but it was satisfying to see him so pleased.

_Aragorn has yet to see the best of her._

With that thought in mind, Pansy recalled how Aragorn had said any help from her would be deeply appreciated. Magic-wise and all.

It was an old trick from her Hogwarts days, what Pansy had in mind.

In her Hogwarts years a House-elf had always loaded her school luggage to the train while she and her mum said their goodbyes. Of course, always arriving half an hour earlier, there would be many schmoozing with their circles before that. So, in between gossiping about what high society wore to the September 1st departure and keeping tabs on how her friends or Hogwarts students changed over the summer ( " _Didn't you see Greengrass? The younger one—she prayed for filling her bra but it looks like somebody cast an Engorgio on her arse." or "Talking about fixing up, have you seen Flint's face? Now I wouldn't mind seeing it down there, if you know what I mean." or "Tall boys our year? Can't believe Potter is yet the tallest, but he is skinny still unlike Zabini."_ ), Pansy had never thought anything about train arrangements. Until the transportation arrived in Hogsmeade, and they had to take the carts or whatever from there.

No longer with her own house-elf, in Hogsmead station it had been _Pansy's_ responsibility to unload her luggage and carry it to the collection point (House-elves of the school had always been lazier compared to those of her family). Draco had never been the one to show the courtesy of offering to carry for her (him being a spoiled dick), and by the time of their fourth year, the bitch Tracey Davis had listened to Daphne Greengrass about not landing a hand to Pansy, as if the blonde hag was the queen. Davis always learned her lesson eventually, Pansy made sure of that. However, after that year, Pansy managed on her own as prideful as she was to be seen asking for help from lesser people.

There was an easy way to carry her bag anyway. A spell that a witch should be able to do.

Knowing the spell by hearts, Pansy took out her wand and cast the good-old Weight-Lifting charm on their backpacks. It never made the weight non-existent, but now it was strikingly lighter. Important to note that they would be carrying these a _long_ way.

"That is you, isn't it, Lady Parkinson?" asked an awed Pippin.

"Do you know any other witch here?" Pansy smirked and to her surprise she received even a bigger smile from the hobbit.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to assume! I suspected Merry all along."

"Funny," Merry cut in. "You know I don't have magic even in the smallest toe! Only Sam here can do the coin trick and you know it, Peregrin."

Pansy rolled her eyes as the two hobbits continued their bickering. She never understood Pippin's persistent amazement with her. She had thought his first impression of her would repel him— knowing that everybody thought of her as a bitch.

"We should head out," Aragorn said dismissively to get them back on track, but Pansy noticed the meaningful shine to his eyes. He approved what she has done for them.

Pansy hesitated to reply him with a smile, then decided to not make a big deal out of this. A long road ahead was nothing to be smiling about anyways.

They took to south, thinking that they would need fuel for the fire and it would be found where their direction crossed the Road, however risky it was.

After that brief explanation, Pansy merely followed Aragorn as the rest of the party did. None were keen to voice a comment even in passing by, afraid that danger was close.

Pansy found herself in step with Aragorn, walking second in line in their group. She observed him more than she looked around the land. In living memory Pansy has never cared for scenery, that was for sure. Hills and rocks and grass and clouds never meant anything to her because none were one of a kind.

Unlike the man she spied upon.

His drawn hood had fallen soon after they had set to travel. Better weather and their fast pace were not favorable to wear it either way. His brow was crossed in focus, set under it his eyes sharp as a Hippogriff alerted in its flight. His long hair streaked with the occasional greys -unfortunately matted and greasy by now (Pansy had a disgusting feeling her own hair was worse)- ticked off yet another trait in Pansy's list that prospective wizards she used to know never achieved: a head full of magnificent hair. If it was a duty of her to bear children, she would rather plan to make them beautiful, hair included; and the annoying fact was that her beauty by itself only made the half of a baby.

Forget about the baby details, she reprimanded herself because she was no longer her parents' daughter. Not entirely. A pureblood witch would have had a new House, an estate, a family and children to take care of by Pansy's age.

She was no longer held by the standards of her own society.

Focusing back to studying Aragorn's face, and noticing a pink hue on his temples because of the exertion of their walking, Pansy found him unmistakably attractive. Objectively handsome described Aragorn very well, too— he had the look of a man she would daydream about holding onto his arm.

Pansy imagined them arriving at the annual gala of the Nott's.

Aragorn would wear the most expensive robes, shade of grey that would compliment his eyes, and it would be personally tailored to his broad shoulders and admirable height. He would wear the shiniest leather shoes only the most wealthy could buy. His wrist watch would be custom-made by the most renowned watch-maker. His fingers would be adorned with rings that esteem his house.

Pansy couldn't imagine a few details now -Would he prefer a clean shave? Would he rather let his hair loose or braid it ?(either way definitely suitable for pureblood wizards) What kind of robes would he prefer: three piece or four?- but she could almost feel her fingers wrap around his bicep, and vividly see herself in a matching grey dress walking beside him as they made their entrance.

Blinking Pansy was brought to reality where the man in the lead was currently signalling them to halt.

There was a cry— from so far away that Pansy couldn't fathom the source. She has heard both an animal and a human share a sound similar to that. The list could grow if she added werewolves, trolls, house-elves… The Battle of Hogwarts had been a night anyone would wish to be deaf than hear _the cries_ of torture, death, rage and ambition… even victory, with how it sounded as ugly as all.

This cry sounded sinister like those.

"We continue till dark," Aragorn repeated.

The hoarseness of his unused voice would become familiar to Pansy in the following days of their march.

* * *

Pansy would have opposed to the idea of getting included in taking shifts warding their humble camp at night, if it were not for the obvious tell that the hobbits were also inexperienced in taking watches.

They were five people in total, so it took one day to repeat a watch.

Pansy didn't know what to do at her first watch. It was pitch black not counting the faint glow of light coming from their campfire. Looking outward Pansy could hardly discern anything even with the aid of starlight. Pansy's eyes were not accustomed to be on alert to attackers that could jump out of a bush.

Honestly, Pansy Parkinson has lived in magically guarded family estates and the only bush she has concerned herself with had been the one under which she had lost her virginity to Draco in their fourth year.

So, yeah, her first watch to aimlessly stare into night was condescending. Her vision adjusted as the minutes passed, but it never felt like she was any good at this.

At least, sharing the watches with Pippin, Pansy felt at ease. There were no weary side-glances or distressed fidgeting that Pansy had to specifically read into. Sure, the boy scared a couple of times when a wild rabbit ran afar or a sudden howl from a dog was heard, but Pansy shared those moments scared shitless like he was.

Scared was better than feeling hot for daydreaming about a certain person.

Truth be told, even during watches, Pansy couldn't force the few images that recently liked to pop in her mind: Pansy kissing a path down Aragorn's torso as she descended on her knees, his strong hands coming to take a hold of her hair, her manicured fingers pulling down his trousers so that she could reach to feel his bare arse; another body part already getting taken care of.

Pansy had no idea why she has become so friggin horny but even in broad daylight, having walked hours, she would be stricken by the tingling in her core and the images would play in her mind.

She blamed walking so close to him at the end of second day.

So, during the third and fourth day she gradually fell behind and had Bill the Pony and half-passed-out Frodo as company. At least Bill liked Pansy. Must be because she petted his neck as they walked. "You like me better than Love; he doesn't always like attention... I hope he is doing fine. He must have visited the neighbours and stayed with them."

Fifth day was tiring as any day went. Pansy ignored Frodo's blank stare, she always did. Even his eyes on her didn't prevent her from thinking about Aragorn in _that_ way. She might be fucked up, she thought momentarily. For her sanity, she never imagined anything _more_ , but a girl could wish, right?

On the sixth day, Aragorn informed that the two of them would share a watch that night.

"You said we are going back to the Road. Why need to take a watch? Isn't it safe now?" Pansy anticipated Aragorn's response so corrected, " _Safer_?"

It turned out they have marched the wrong way, needlessly along North, so it was not _bloody safer_.

Heading to the correct direction then on, by nightfall they camped further outside the Road, having found a discreet and comfortable enough space.

"I'll get the fire going," Sam said and got to work. Pippin and Merry gently helped Frodo down the pony. They shared stale bread and dried apples while Sam put his own share aside to tend to Frodo.

"Why does he feel so bad, Strider? My master only has a white scar left of the wound, but he does not get any better," asked Sam.

Aragorn sighed. "It was a wound inflicted by evil. Frodo here is managing its ill effects better than many warriors, so believe in him Sam; and let's pray we reach Rivendell at once."

"How far is it?" asked Merry.

"We shall cross the Last Bridge first. After that, it is closer."

Pansy snorted and immediately felt Aragorn's piercing gaze on her. She looked up at him to see the silent irritation reflected in those grey irises.

"What?" Pansy retorted. "That answer was worse than saying 'You have to breathe' to a man who drowns. I mean, of course it would be closer if we cross a frigging bridge. That isn't a measure of anything. If I move _one step_ that way," -Pansy showed where she thought the bridge was- "then voila, I _am_ closer to that River-whatever."

Nobody commented on that. Pansy was aware Peregrin and Merry was sharing a look, but she couldn't keep her eyes away from Aragorn.

"Anyways… It seems I can't keep up with the cheer of you guys...so," Pansy rolled her eyes and stood up.

It was nearly time to sleep anyway. They would move with the first light.

"I better start my watch," she announced.

As stubborn as she was, Pansy refused to glance back at the camp to see how the rest settled down. When the rustling and whispers finally died down, a figure approached her and sat five feet away.

It was Aragorn, her watch companion.

They didn't talk all night.

* * *

Pansy skipped their quick breakfast for a very needed shower— if she could call casting _Aguamenti_ that. It wasn't much without soap and shampoo, of course, but it made her feel a lot better.

Standing magically dried in her skin as the day she was born, Pansy glared at her dirty and worn outfits. Her coat remained the most sturdy piece among everything. Pansy had thrown away her knickers on the fourth day of their travel. The prospect of her bra, Pansy was stilling mulling over.

She could kill to go shopping at the moment. In fact, she would massacre for shopping and kill a few people/creature/whatever to visit her wardrobe in her shabby apartment. Either way she would have a clear conscious.

Sad truth was that those two options were currently unavailable as far away as she was from home. That meant her cleaning charms should suffice for now. Again.

While she was casting her last charm to make her garments possible to wear, she heard a throat getting cleared.

"What now?" she snapped and looked over her shoulder.

The sight of Aragorn standing by the particular tree that Pansy herself had marked to return to their campsite, alerted the young witch more than she cared to admit. It wasn't often that such pungent flames assaulted her from head to toe; they travelled to pressure her chest and each breath burned as if it was possible.

A healthy blush without make-up, what else could she wish, right?

When Aragorn's eyes rapidly darted to take her in, Pansy wished the man would walk up to her and help create waves of pleasure to cool the ignited fire in her belly.

He cleared his throat again.

"You are taking long. We must move on."

_Nope, so much for wishing._

Pansy held his gaze and slowly turned towards him.

It was exhilarating to remain naked and unabashed under his curious leer. One hand lazily rested on her hip while she lifted her chin to give the air of utmost nonchalance. She refused to rub her thighs to relieve some pressure; as such the first indicator of what his presence meant for her would be her painfully hardened nipples and second, her instantly flushing complexion.

"You could use a drop of water yourself," Pansy said dryly. As an afterthought she allowed her eyes to drop to his crotch (Salazar knew her female pride soared to see his trousers tenting) and when she lifted her eyes again, she gave him a lascivious smirk.

Pansy Parkinson knew the steps to lead this situation whereever her heart (and body) desired, however she stopped herself only for one reason.

It wasn't entirely about the man in front of her.

Sure, she has had a fleeting thought the man was a _Muggle_. Merlin only knew whom his family was! He could be a beggar, not to mention. He was also righteous, stubborn, had a bleeding heart like a Gryffindor and he was loyal to a T.

Nothing on that list could have changed Pansy's mind if not for the last mentioned article.

The man was loyal for another woman. She knew that from their conversation in Bree.

Ever since leaving Hogwarts, Pansy has given chance to any fancy her heart has taken, including Ronald Weasley. Especially after throwing her engagement, Pansy had been much more generous with her intimacy. When all that she sought for was attention, what did it matter that it came from a Half-blood or a Muggle-born? What did it matter if the wizard was unemployed or worked for a living as a clerk or whatnot?

She has been single and Pansy had decided to be open-minded for her own interest.

Remembering Weasley and one or two married wizards she has involved herself with, Pansy recalled a few undesirable feelings.

She doubted Aragorn to be _married_ , but her dignity could not withstand being a replacement or a convenience; both were what she has felt next to men who were (although subjectively) loyal to some other women.

Noticing the sparkle of Aragorn's necklace, Pansy repeated to herself that she did not want to be placed in that position again. Not when her only sensible chance to get back home was because of Aragorn.

_Especially_ not when heart was not ready for anything, even physically, if whatever that might happen was fated to break it.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Pansy dismissed Aragorn. "Not everyone wants to look like a homeless filth. I'll be there in the blink of an eye, _Strider._ "

Pansy bent to reach for her trousers, and when she stood back up again, Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. _For the better_ , she thought as the young witch cursed her way through getting dressed.

When she finally arrived at the camp, everyone was ready to head to the bridge.

They found it easily enough. The Road was thankfully empty.

" _ **It is a beryl, an elf-stone,**_ " said Aragorn letting everyone see the green gem sitting at the center of his palm. He had gone earlier to scout the area. "Nothing comes to my mind to explain how it was there for me to find it, but I can only hope it means the bridge is safe for us to cross over. I do not trust the same to be with the Road, however."

"Do you mind?" Pansy asked but she had already taken the gem from him. If Aragorn was aggravated, Pansy did not take a second glance to see and care. "I'll give it back to you later."

Twirling the valuable stone in her hand, Pansy weighed it and tried to sense anything magical about it. She had to run some spells to see if there was anything particularly interesting about it for her, but regardless the beauty of the green jewelry had to be admitted.

The party continued to walk so Pansy decided it wouldn't hurt to try to use her wand and keep up with the party concurrently.

When she nearly tripped, she cursed. "Shite."

"Here," said someone. Looking up, Pansy saw Pippin. "I may help guide you, Lady Parkinson."

Thinking it wouldn't hurt, Pansy decided she could use the assistance.

"Take my waist. I need to be able to move my arms."

It wasn't before they took three steps that Pippin whispered curiously, "What will you do to the jewelry?"

In that moment Pansy knew this 'guiding' was not simply free.

* * *

_***Bold and Italic sentences are directly quotes from LoTR: Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.** _

****Excuse me for any mistake. I will edit in the morning :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is for _Jamethiel-bane_ , _Amy_ and _Pineapple_pancake._ All three of you help me write this with the utmost motivation! Hearing from you, I know that this story means something, and is enjoyable, and worth every word that I write.**

**Thanks to all my readers** xoxox

* * *

"I wonder how these towers were made? The land seems unoccupied for ages," said Peregrin.

Pansy had to agree with him. Ruins peeked through the trees, many branches hid a fallen stone or a column here and there, and the stillness of these structures forbid anyone to step closer.

It was peaceful, for Pansy at least. Sure, there was an ominous feeling that clung in the air, but Pansy felt the low humm of magic. The stones were charmed; if she had to guess, it was an everlasting independent charm, which meant a non-living source maintained the lowest possible magic transaction so that it could withstand decades.

That was one hell of a magic.

"Does anyone live here?" she asked out of wonder. Perhaps there were witches and wizards who helped keep the magic alive. A non-living source could never be everlasting if it were not stars and the moon, and only the pioneers of magic could manifest power from them.

"No," Aragorn replied to her, then he turned to Pippin. "Men has lived here. They were the ones to build these towers. It was long ago. Some of them fell under the influence of Angmar and made unspeakable deeds. The last war that ended the North Kingdom was doom for them as well. That, too, was so long ago. No one, living or dead, remembers it."

"How come you know the story, then?" countered Pippin, voicing the exact question in Pansy's mind.

"Elendil's kin do not forget easily and it is a tale told countlessly in Rivendell."

That name sounded familiar: Elendil. Pansy asked, "Who is Elendil?"

There was an abrupt halt that nearly caused Pansy to fall. Pippin was close and helped her keep her balance.

Aragorn found her eyes, and his shock and wonder were so pure that Pansy wondered if he believed there remained nothing that would be new to him.

"What? Of course, I don't know about it, why are you so surprised?" she said.

He closed his eyes and sighed; Pansy felt his decision before he voiced it. "I'm confident you shall learn the tale in great detail once we are in Rivendell. It would not be wise to go into details here out in the open."

Pansy shrugged. "Fine."

It wasn't her fault that the irritating bastard was tight-lipped. She wondered how they had so openly discussed about love nearly a week ago.

"Elendil was the first High King of Gondor and Arnor, father to both Isildur and Anarion. He was of the blood of the Numenor." Aragorn stalled but finally added, "It may mean little to you, all these names and places."

Pansy looked at Aragorn to see that he thoughtfully gazed at her. When she met his eyes, she shrugged. It was true: his explanation was not helpful by much. He held her gaze, and nodded. At least, they understood one another.

"Do you visit Rivendell frequently?" said Frodo all of a sudden, referring to Aragorn's last comment. The injured hobbit did not talk much.

" _ **I dwelt there once, and still I return when I may. There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace, even in the fair house of Elrond."**_

A wave of cold water washed her veins and slowed her system at hearing Aragorn's explanation. _Where his heart is,_ Pansy repeated herself. That meant… Pansy wanted to laugh. As much as her heart hurt, she wanted to laugh.

It didn't make sense. Especially knowing that there was nothing to be hurt about.

As a result, she didn't end up asking who Elrond was... why should she care, right?

* * *

It was a hard day of climbing and freezing. Even with Pansy's charms to protect them from the cold and being wet, rain decreased their mood considerably. The weather was dreary, trees thick, the land rocky and always inclined.

"Lady Pansy! Is it because the rain pours hard that it finally reaches my clothes, or is it that your spell has broken?" asked Pippin ten minutes into the second downpour of rain.

"What?"

Pansy was not wet. Sure, her hair was drenched and her leather shoes had their share of being dipped into mud, but her blouse and trousers were relatively dry…

She turned to look at Pippin and saw his usually green cloak drenched with water, its colour changing into a dark grey.

It couldn't be…

Taking her wand out, Pansy cast the water-proof charm on Pippin again but it didn't hold more than ten seconds. Her own magical coat must have protected her slightly longer, Pansy understood as her own spell over the party has clearly been broken some time ago.

"Are you feeling alright, Lady Pansy? You look white, and your eyes…"

Pansy wiped her face. Transfixed as she was at walking with the party, exhaustion of their journey had been blocked off. Her charms weren't holding, her legs were hurting and her feet were cold.

She should have slept last night than to watch Aragorn smoke his pipe through his watch.

 _Always the wrong choices_ , her mind whispered but Pansy shook her head.

"I'm fine." Pansy turned down Pippin's hesitant help to assist her. "I said I'm fine," she snapped.

Pippin backed away, hands above his head to show his innocence, but a faint smile reassured that he was not cross with her.

Apparently, it wasn't only Pansy who was struggling.

"Frodo cannot possibly hold out any longer," said Merry. "I am concerned for him; he has to rest. Better than that, he needs a cure. Will they be able to help in Rivendell?"

Pansy looked at the injured hobbit. Climbing was the hardest for him. Ponies weren't known to be the best climbers, too.

Frodo was wet and freezing, as seen by the clattering of his jaw. Merry was similar, though he did not have the same ashen face of Frodo's.

Glancing at Aragorn, Pansy saw that he was very much in the same predicament as the rest of them. Wet, cold and tired.

Aragorn replied to Merry, but at this point, Pansy sensed that he repeated what he prayed to be true: "Rivendell has many healers that may help Frodo. Our friend is strong, so let's hope we shall see his delivery to the folk of Rivendell."

They decided to camp for the night, regardless of how high up the ridge they were.

"We have travelled far up North once again, and I'm afraid we will wander too close to the troll-countries if we continue in this path and I must admit I do not know those lands. We must return to the Road."

Aragorn's announcement was easily accepted. Pansy would agree to anything he said, no longer doubting his tracking abilities because she simply did not care.

If Merlin was out there watching her _adventure_ , Pansy was sure the man was not heartless to let her freeze to death in the wilderness.

With that thought in mind, Pansy found herself a place between Aragorn and Merry when all huddled together to shield themselves from the cold of the night. Their small fire aided them, but Pansy realized being close to another person provided a warmth incomparable to a flimsy campfire.

Nobody asked why she hasn't cast a warming charm. Nobody asked why they were wet, soaked till their underwear. Nobody asked her how come she could not shield them from the biting cold and relentless rain _magically_.

Pansy shamefully accepted that kindness. Kindness was a trait she rarely used; if it were her, she sure would have called out someone's incompetence.

At least it was good of her to know her own hypocrisy.

Feeling the gradual ease of her limbs and the decrease of her shakings, Pansy decided to let go of those details.

She pulled her knees to herself to somehow fit into her coat, but the arm that circled around her to get her closer to the owner's body provided a warmth immeasurable to any spell-woven garment she owned.

Pansy hesitated to look up at him, knowing that if their eyes met, she would feel an unexplainable pull. Magnetic. Heated. Grateful.

Sinful.

She wouldn't look at him, Pansy decided. Yet, she did not have the heart to decline his gesture… a gesture of kindness.

His arm remained where it was. Her head dropped to his shoulder as heavy as it weighed.

Unfortunately, the chance to revel in the feeling of being in his embrace was short-lived since Pansy was overtaken by sleep not so long after.

* * *

Pansy did not awake until after Aragorn and Merry have apparently set out to survey the area.

Waking up to the shine of the sun, and hearing birds chirp to give her encouragement, Pansy felt well-rested. Eating a small portion of breakfast on top of that, made her feel elated.

Of course, her head ached because of the cold of last night but she knew it would simply pass.

Later, the party walked in Aragorn's lead for some time before Pippin pointed out a path. They followed the unmistakable path to find a cave, an empty one, and trolls close-by.

Pansy would never mention this occurrence as the best days of her travel with the party. She never liked trolls. They were hideous and stupid creatures. They would cook and eat wizards and witches, too. The horror of being under the same roof as those carnivores in her first year of Hogwarts made Pansy easily realize that her beloved school was much more like a prison of nightmares on hindsight.

So, when the party found three trolls turned into rock and exchanged epic tales of how these hideous creatures came to be defeated, Pansy elected to announce she would be using the toilet far away from them.

And yes, crouching behind a tree and taking care of her business was favorable to staying with them.

It was humiliating to pee this way, her arse open, the sound of the stream of her pee echoing in the clearing while her eyes darted around to guard her privacy. She would never get used to this. It felt… inhuman, somehow. Pansy was sure even Muggles didn't do this. Muggles in her own country, at least.

When she was finishing, that last thought remained in her mind and all of a sudden Pansy felt the stinging behind her eyes and the slight burn in her nose that signalled she would cry.

Her lips trembled and before she could calm herself tears were dropping down her cheeks to her knees. Her vision blurred while she looked at her shoes.

"Merlin, Salazar, Helga, Rowena, even Godric, if you hear me, please get me home," Pansy cried. What was this mess? Why was she here? Why her?

She had done nothing to deserve to come here, live and pee like an animal, travel by foot, be an alien to her surroundings. Even the Kiss sounded a more compelling punishment, but the kick was that PANSY HAD DONE NOTHING WRONG.

She has lied, cheated, slapped a bitch in the face, cursed her mother and father, wished them to be dead, had sex with multiple men before marriage, but she has not stolen, hurt or killed anyone. She was not a _Death Eater_. She has never been. Sure, she was prejudiced, rude, arrogant and loved money… but again, they were not worthy of any punishment _like this_.

Pansy was now sitting next to the wet ground (her own creation), her butt placed above dirt and twigs, legs comically restricted by her trousers. She was crying. A bit louder as the seconds ticked by.

"Shite," cursed Pansy. "Shite, shite, shite. It's all—all a fucking nightmare!"

Minutes passed and she calmed, _because what other choice did she have?_

Sniffing, she found a suitable leaf to wipe her nose. She would not use the back of her blouse sleeve; she might not shy away from snot, but it didn't mean her once expensive clothes would be demeaned.

Pansy got to her feet and pulled her trousers up. Taking her wand out, she cast _Aguamenti_ to clean her face and hands, and drank some of it.

As she walked back to the where the party was, Pansy thought about her short crisis back there. It was easy to forget that all this journey was because she wanted to get home, to UK, to her apartment in London. It wasn't because she adored the place, but she has never had so much to do that occupied her mind into a blankness. However, now she remembered her main objective.

Pansy reached for her clutch bag and opened it to find the ring that she has locked away. The damned thing that has led to her appearance in this _Middle-Earth_.

The box where ring was kept, was a small chest she put her most often used jewelry. Now, there was no need to put any of them at all. What gathering or gala was she attending anyway? Also, her extra security locks were not ones for daily dismantling.

She wouldn't open the chest; but looking at it, Pansy knew she had to get her game together and analyse the ring again in the near future. This time with a clearer head. She would wait to get her strength back. (In hindsight, casting all those charms on that chest must have drained her, too)

With that resolution set, Pansy was about to close her clutch bag when she caught the shine of the beryl stone she has not yet returned to Aragorn.

"Hey," she called to Aragorn when she was within the earshot of the group. The stone trolls were hideous as far as she could see; they were close to where the party took a break. "Would you like this back? It has only protection charms placed on it. Like you guessed, to make the bridge safe to cross. It must be location-locked, so it might not be as useful for us while we travel."

Aragorn didn't immediately answer. Pansy noticed he was observing her.

"What?"

"You cried again, milady," Aragorn stated.

It was not a question. Pansy wouldn't have answered. "Do you want it back?" she asked instead.

"What happened at Weathertop?"

_Great, question for a question._

"Why did you intrude to my shower time a couple of days ago?"

Pansy asked that solely to make him uncomfortable. She could be an arse, just like he was.

As expected, Aragorn cast his eyes away and gulped. The image of her must have popped in his mind. Pansy smirked.

He cleared his throat and finally looked back at her. However, Pansy noticed he didn't quite look her in the eyes. Maybe he looked at her nose, or cheeks, or ear, or whatever.

He was avoiding her.

"What happened at Weathertop?" he repeated more sternly this time.

Pansy collected her arms by her bust. That brought his attention to her eyes.

"A rider attacked me so I Disapparated."

A few heartbeats passed without either of them speaking. Soon, Aragorn's brows crossed in confusion.

"I do not understand…"

Pansy rose her eyebrows to prompt him to speak. She did not have all day to hear him out.

"What do you mean by…?"

"Oh, yes, forgot you were a Muggle. I meant to say when I was attacked I used magic to get away. When I thought it was safe, I came back."

"Where did you go?"

"To a previous camp place."

The confusion was written all over his face, now mixed with astonishment. The purse of his parched lips was somehow compelling.

"At least a-day's travel?"

Pansy snorted at that, but seeing the genuine shock in his face, she laughed. It was laughing _at_ him, but Pansy wouldn't pass the chance to be happy.

"Okay, okay, you'll love this," Pansy said, an idea swirling in her giddy mind.

She looped her arm around Aragorn's, and Disapparated. Being a witch, she could at least do that much.

* * *

**I'M FOLLOWING THE BOOK, literally. It is open as I write, and this last few chapters have been nearly scene by scene :D So, I can promise that the next chapter there will be Glorfindel. So we ARE getting close to Rivendell.**

**I know this chapter is shorter, but I had to stop there and take your guesses where she would take him! (Clue: There aren't many options)**


	7. Chapter 7

It was a feeling Aragorn has never experienced. He felt squeezed, worse than how, in his childhood, he used to force himself to fit under the bed while his mother was looking for him. Moreover, his insides shifted like he was jumping down _and back up_ a cliff, as if that was possible! It was nauseating. His ears were clogged and mouth dried… just before he threw up.

As a person who has won battles, clashed swords, spied and trapped, led troops and travelled far lands, Aragorn indeed was surprised to be struck dumb by Lady Parkinson again and again.

Why this young woman has entranced him in this way, Aragorn did not have the slightest clue.

First, in the Prancing Pony, she had blasted him with her magic. In less than five minutes, she had bargained with him and succeeded to make him comply. That very night, she opened up to him. About her heart. What she thought about any mortal wondered about love and life.

Brief as it might have been, that honest moment of intimacy had not prepared Aragorn for what happened when he reached to grab her wrist at her departure. To his surprise, his heart skipped a beat and all thought from his mind vanished. The soft skin underneath his fingers radiated a heat that clawed up his arms and crushed his body in a crescendo. Maybe it had all stemmed from a wicked spell cast by those striking green eyes of Lady Parkinson as the two of them had locked gazes. Aragorn has been at a loss since then. At that moment, he knew there was a spark… just before he let go of her. _He had to let go of her._

His heart was meant for Arwen, his vowed love of life.

So, Aragorn reasoned to himself that his reaction to Lady Parkinson was not out of the ordinary. There was no denying Lady Parkinson possessed an objective beauty, and unlike with the Elves, her charm felt real and tangible. There was no magical veil that confused the senses of the mortals. Any man to glance her way would be as attracted as Aragorn, he summarized.

Still, the list of surprises only grew from that night on.

It had surprised him that the Lady tried to march to Rivendell in those shoes. Insane and stubborn she was...until Aragorn witnessed she actually accomplished it more than an hour.

It had further surprised him that she let him aid her when she fell that day. He would have thought her to be prideful and against it.

With her magical trick to fend off unaccommodating weather too, she had surprised Aragorn. However it was not so much of a pleasant surprise when she subsequently made it clear all she wanted was to return _home_. She would do anything to get back.

Surprises, starting with the last, became less enjoyable.

They had survived the confrontation with the Black Riders, yet the surprise of Lady Parkinson's mysterious disappearance and eventual return were overshadowed because of the dried tears on her face. She had cried that night, for what reason Aragorn did not know even now.

Then, there was the surprise that Lady Parkinson knew nothing of the lands they trekked. She knew nothing about the history of Men. The One Ring. The Last Alliance. Nothing. For Aragorn, it was not a surprise well-received. He understood -the young woman was not from these lands, how could she know anything? (He was indeed at a loss where she was actually from)- however these oddities did pour cold water to his otherwise flaming heart.

Although aloof in nature, the young woman thrived to be a part of this journey and whenever Aragorn felt she was managing it, it surprised him to find that she has _cried_ again. She never divulged the reason of her distress. Aragorn knew naught the answer for her lack of urge to share.

She was… distant—That was wrong. Lady Parkinson _put_ distance.

Spending time in her presence, Aragorn constantly learned new feelings… He had new surprises, both enjoyable and less so.

However, now, feeling her hand between his shoulder blades, gently patting him while he heaved, the surprise of her kindness was more than enjoyable. He could not be more thankful that she was there. It felt heartwarming to be cared for by her.

"Ugh, gross, isn't it?" her velvet voice complained apologetically. "I should have warned you, but I guess sorry won't bring back your lunch, eh?"

Aragorn closed his eyes. His stomach still felt funny. Would he throw up again?

"Here, just…"

Gentle fingers were removing one side of his hair that had some of its strands stuck to his face, in sweat, vomit or spit, Aragon did not know.

"Are you done? Feeling better? Argh, I need to wash my hands after this..."

Aragorn nodded nonsensically while cleaning his mouth. Making sure that he would no longer be emptying the content of his stomach, he managed to stand. Wiping his face, he only caught at the last moment that the corner of his coat was used by Lady Parkinson much like a handkerchief.

She had let go of the fabric when he made eye contact. She looked innocent as a baby who has wet itself.

"I can buy you a pie here? What do you say?" the Lady said. Her proud smile was shark-ish, but Aragorn couldn't understand what in the name of Valar she was talking about until he turned his head where she pointed with her chin.

There, not twenty steps ahead, stood the familiar inn which had people bustling about, the owner Mr Butterbur's voice booming from the open windows, as the sole sign that read 'Prancing Pony' swayed with the light wind.

This surprise, by far, was the biggest one that accomplished to turn Aragorn to a poor man with a cut-tongue.

"Come! If we don't enjoy this, there is no point of me Apparating us kilometers away… After we go back, I have to let my wand rest, too. There would have been no need if I was sleeping in my own bed and took a potion that first day I was cold...but anyway..."

Yet, Aragorn did not follow Lady Parkinson to the inn. He did not think he could make his legs walk. He could not _feel_ his limbs.

Only a few moments ago they were in that Troll cave! No Men, Dwarf or Elf could travel those lands in less than a day. Perhaps on the back of a dragon, or if you were one; but this was beyond comprehension. Even the evil power of the ring could not do magic so impressive… if it had, Sauron would have obtained his One Ring from Frodo long weeks ago.

_Magic_ , his mind answered and his eyes took in the frame of Lady Parkinson. Hers was a different magic than the Grey Wizard's. Aragorn had not known about it but Lady Parkinson knew. _She has brought me here on a whim_ , it occurred to him.

Gradually, his freeze thawed and Aragorn found himself flaring like a firework.

"Is this a game you play, milady? What is it in your mind to make such cruelty?"

The Lady turned and her green eyes wavered, taken aback. Her lovely brows crossed but before she could respond, Aragorn continued.

"It is by your magic we came back here, so you made the trip of eleven days in the blink of an eye. No Men could dream this, yet, you knew of your power. While we walked for hours, _for days_ , with no food, dwindling provisions, a wounded comrade, you never spoke a word. Tell me, milady, how has your heart bore such burden? Has your conscience not awoken you all those nights we spent outside shivering in the dark, scared for our lives with those Riders on our track?"

Aragorn expected shame to colour her temples, her pretty eyes to drop in guilt, her voice to plead him his forgiveness. None came. The Lady simply looked conflicted.

"We could have bought food. Clothes. Medicine." Aragorn persisted to get a proper reaction from Lady Parkinson. "What if Gandalf has dropped by? We could have heard of news." Aragorn searched her eyes to see she understood the gravity of her secrecy yet the more he spoke, it looked Lady Parkinson shut him off more layer by layer.

"Will you not speak?" Aragorn insisted. Her eyes narrowed, to which he decided to plead sternly. "I _want_ an explanation."

To that, Lady Parkinson stepped towards him dangerously. What she was capable of, Aragorn more or less knew. He would be a fool to be caught by surprise. _Yet he has always been a fool when it came to Lady Parkinson_.

"I learned not to question you." Lady Parkinson said pointedly. "Did you hear me complaining when you said we walked _a bit too_ North? Yeah, I did not open my mouth. So, I believe I deserve the same respect."

"That is not respect—" Aragorn protested.

"It is respect when a person—"

"I told everyone when we were close to the troll countries why it would not be wise to—"

" _That_ was not the explanation why you led us that much North to begin with. You never _shared_ your route to Rivendell. So, what I consider respect is? It is not fucking with someone's decision."

"Your decision affects the welfare of our party as a whole…" Aragorn's voice died down because for some reason he lost faith that Lady Parkinson could be reasoned.

"Your decision of directions affected _the party as a whole, too_." said Lady Parkinson mockingly.

Aragorn dropped his head, one hand supporting his forehead. _Lady Parkinson could not be reasoned when his own reason was flawed._

Through gaining experience and wisdom, Aragorn has become a man whose advice and expert have always been sought. Leader, he generally found himself in the position of. There were those with whom he discussed matters -masters, chiefmans and similar seniors- yet in this journey, Frodo and the hobbits had solely trusted him to get them safely to Rivendell.

They asked how _long_ it was left to get there, not _how_ to get there ever.

With Lady Parkinson, it was different. She has not taken well that Aragorn has planned by himself. So, hiding her ability of travel… _Was that a punishment?_ Aragorn wondered. Was this her vengeance?

Would Lady Parkinson hold back knowledge and power whenever she wished, regardless of its benefit to them? Did it benefit her, as it was?

Aragorn did not want to believe Lady Parkinson to be capable of this level of selfishness, but he has not known her for long, has he?

Then again, mayhaps _because_ she knew little of Aragorn, that she has not asked to be informed about their path and his plans before she silently resented him. Aragorn would have liked to share whatever she required. Even today, when Lady Parkinson asked about Elendil, he had decided to answer her as much as he could considering the lands they passed.

"My magic does not allow me to go anywhere and everywhere," came a voice.

At the huff, Aragorn found it safe to raise his eyes to look at Lady Parkinson. She was docile, almost bored with the conversation.

This seemed like an acquiescence on her part.

She continued, "I can only travel to places I have been and know well. And I can't take five people with me— that is beyond my ability. Better wizards and witches might be able to do that. Anyway… More to the point, I understood our travel is not based on comfort so I focused to get there as soon as we could. You take it lightly, but I really need to get to that wizard Mr Grey. And, Disapparating a few hours or more a day would not help us to arrive at that Rivendell as quickly as possible. Even if we did, it would be ridiculous because everyone is Muggle— non-wizards. I don't want to raise attention to my magic."

"You could not have taken us to Rivendell because you have never been there." Aragorn stated to make it clear.

Lady Parkinson rolled her eyes. "That's what I said."

"Alright," Aragorn immediately replied to not raise the Lady's ire. He already felt drained because of the unfavorable air between them. "Your logic is not unreasonable, however I find that we could make better of your powers, still. We could have bought food from Bree, for example. You are able to travel here, as you've shown me now."

Aragorn's pointed stare finally made the blush of shame colour Lady Parkinson's temples.

He smiled involuntarily at the sight, then continued to offer peace. "Anyhow… Would it be desirable for you to discuss these with me beforehand?"

Lady Parkinson raised her eyebrows.

Aragorn added, "Of course, I will include you to any plan I have for the party."

There was a silence in which Lady Parkinson considered his offer.

"For now," she agreed.

Aragorn filed away the slippery slope he stood with Lady Parkinson, yet it was easing to find that she was able to be reasoned. One small detail remained in his mind...

"Also… Why did you make me promise to take you to Bree that night in the inn if you could come back on your own?"

"Do you have to know everything?" She crossed her arms around her bust in annoyance.

"Yes… especially when it comes to you." He couldn't help his smile. Raising his eyebrows to prompt Lady Parkinson to speak, he found it has caused her to burn red in sweet embarrassment. Endearing, he thought, like when he had seen her in the woods… when she was bathing—

Aragorn had to blink so the image would be repelled from his mind. He did not need this right now. He knew it was wrong. He would never betray Arwen's love like this. Not with his actions, but not even with his thoughts.

Lady Parkinson cleared her throat to dissipate the edge to their mood.

"So… about that pie…" She nearly moaned the name of the dish which did not help the least. Aragorn's eyes popped open as he felt a blush of his own rise to his cheeks. Why was his body betraying him so readily? "Even if you aren't having any, I sure hell will. You coming?"

Aragorn was left speechless for a moment by Lady Parkinson's allure (He had to stop this). It seemed like she would not be waiting to get an answer from him.

"Wait," Aragorn called to her receding back. She stopped.

He had to focus on their mission. It must have been nearing half an hour since they arrived in Bree. What were the others doing back at the camp? The hobbits could be worried, and even in danger… They should not have left them to their devices for so long.

"We must return in haste," Aragorn insisted. "We have been absent for far too long."

"I told you I can't make the travel again till tomorrow, I don't want to splinch either of us."

Although Aragorn did not fully understand the last part, he weighed his options. They could make something work.

"Buy the pie to go. And a few other things to eat. You may also ask Mr Butterburr whether he has heard from Gandalf. I shall visit a vendor to see if I can find anything for Frodo's wound. We will come meet here in half an hour."

Lady Parkinson looked around, then snorted. "Half an hour is too short for all that; at least for you! I can't see any stores, or _vendors_ as you said, close here...what are you going to do, _sprint_?"

Aragorn only smiled. Nobody knew Bree better than he did.

"Oh, also," Aragorn took out a pouch of coins. When Lady Parkinson did not act to take it, he threw it at her. "You might need this."

She had fast reaction to catch it like that.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Lady Parkinson's eyes popped open at finding the money. She looked flustered as she glanced between the pouch and him. "Fine! Just so you know, I don't need your money. Technically. Arrgh. I will choke you in my vault one day because I can; and you will remember this day, Strider, and you will be sorry—"

"—How ever you like. Now, we should hurry."

* * *

Pansy helped Aragorn while he vomited for a second time.

"What happened to the Strider?" cried out Pippin.

Before Pansy could answer, another voice was heard, "Where did the two of you vanish, Lady?"

Sam was quickly backed up by Merry. "Yeah. We thought you'd never show up! It's been more than an hour!"

"It smells funny here... I think I might join Strider," mumbled Frodo.

Pansy has had enough.

"Shut up, all of you! Can't you see he is not fine?" she finally snapped.

Frodo kindly answered her by retching.

"Ugh, just… not you too!"

Pansy let out a frustrated shriek but did not leave Aragorn by himself. The man must have a weak stomach, she thought as she held his hair out of the way and stroked his back while he continued to vomit bile. Back when she applied for Apparition licence twice, sure she has splinched her partner once and missed her destination countless times… but Pansy has never had any stomach problems. She could only imagine Aragorn's distress.

Pansy was aware Hobbits were helping each other while she took care of Aragorn, but she hated that she was left in the middle of a commotion.

"Are you done?"

It must have sounded angrier than she intended as Aragorn immediately said something close to, "I'm fine. Leave me be, milady."

Of course, she did not.

In a few moments, Aragorn seemed to cease so Pansy helped him sit down right away. She casted an _Evanesco_ on the vomit, did the same to get rid of Frodo's vomit as well, and cast _Aguamenti_ on both of the boys to clean them up.

"Better?" Pansy asked Aragorn, holding his hand. She reached to get his hair out of his face.

Aragorn nodded absentmindedly. "I do not enjoy your magic."

Pansy would have felt more cross at hearing something like that from a Muggle, but not today.

"Yeah, well, good thing it is mine then."

Pansy looked him. Face ashen, eyes teared and mouth dried. He looked like a mess. He must be feeling awful at the moment. Vomiting twice? Even once would leave anyone drained. And sad. And their head dizzy.

Aragorn should eat something, Pansy thought and immediately took out a portion of the food she bought from the Prancing Pony.

"What is that?" came Merry's voice. "And how did it fit in your bag?"

Pansy turned to see them quite confused. She looked down at her small clutch bag that would not in normal circumstances fit a pie. It was an expensive bag that came with Expansion Charms. She has spent three months of her salary on it.

"Here help yourselves." Pansy handed over the bag at Pippin. "I got some stuff from Bree. Be careful with the bag, though. I want it back right away unscathed."

"Bree? What do you mean Bree?"

"Valar sees this! It _is_ Mr Butterbur's pie!"

"I don't like this, sir. This is not normal."

"Thank you, Lady Parkinson."

Pansy elected to ignore the Hobbits and helped Aragorn get some food in his stomach. She filled his water skin using _Aguamenti_ , and he drank greedily once his stomach calmed.

Now that they have settled, Pansy struggled to overlook the rush of blood in her ears as close as they were.

"Thank you," Aragorn said, eyes intently on her.

The pounding of her heart hastened at his attention. It didn't help that he did not look away as the seconds passed. What did he think he was doing? She knew it would not be good to be impressed by this man...romantically or sexually. She has known this the past _week_. Merlin help her to command her body to comply.

Aragorn was not helping.

She needed to help herself. So, she nodded to finish this interaction. Aragorn nodded back but his gaze remained on her. Clearing her throat to divert his attention next, finally did the trick.

He faced away and closed his eyes. Pansy could see the red colour of his temples where his beard did not reach. Squeezing his eyes shut a few more moments before he took a deep breath, "I need to see Frodo," said Aragorn and left her by herself without a second glance.

If it were not for Pippin who came to ask all about their crazy adventure to Bree, Pansy would have fallen into a foul mood much more quicker.


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, it took them another hour to leave the trolls behind. The bright side was that Frodo was much better for the journey now that Aragorn tended him with medicine he had bought in Bree. It helped that their route down to the Road was easier than most of their days, too.

By evening a chill hung in the air and the cheerful noises of the forest dimmed. Pansy could swear the ominous feeling that followed them was like it foretold that a Dementor was closing in on them. Ever since her third year in Hogwarts, they have become a nightmare for her. It did not help that she has never accomplished to cast a Patronus charm.

Shivering at the thought, Pansy collected her coat tighter around her and unthinkingly stepped closer to Pippin. Pansy looked down at the Hobbit she could call a friend (she could not get to be picky nowadays) and it occurred to her how absurd it would be if Pippin indeed protected her from any kind of foe. With how he only reached her waist he could hardly be a shield to an oncoming attack, and in a case of fleeing Pansy imagined she would only trip over him.

Oh, she was being absurd! If anything happened, Pansy planned on Disapparating. Sad that the only place she knew to escape was Bree. Utterly predictable.

 _What would become of her companions then?_ the thought seeped into her mind but Pansy repelled it immediately. Unless the Dark Lord himself held a wand aimed at her chest, Pansy Parkinson would not answer tricky questions like that. Not even in her mind.

Shaking her head off the thoughts, Pansy was not late to catch the noise new to the harrowing woods. Although faint enough to miss it at first, once recognized it was a noise that sucked the air out of their lungs. _Hoofs_ , Pansy identified, and not that of old Bill's.

It was as though Pansy heard the neigh of the Black Rider's horse once again; the horrible encounter in Weathertop was fresh in her mind. For a change, she would not be the idiot to lure any rider to them.

She glanced at her companions to see that she was not alone to hear the noise. Everyone scrambled to nearby bushes where they could not be seen and huddled together with Aragorn situated at the front of the group. Pansy felt safer to be behind him, his towering figure gave her a sense of security walking beside Pippin never could achieve.

"Are they close?" Pansy whispered.

There was no mistaking the sound of a horse galloping towards them.

"They are not far away," Aragorn noted lightly.

Pansy wanted to smack the back of his head, for she bet Aragorn was smirking while his back was to her. "Oh, so it is an appropriate time to joke?" she hissed.

"Wait, Lady Pansy. _Listen_ ," Frodo insisted. Any other day Pansy would have shown her irritation for Frodo's butting in, but she decided a day her life was not at risk would be better. So, yes, she shut her mouth and listened: their pursuer was drawing nearer. She heard the rhythm of _clippety-clippety-clip_ , accompanied by what sounded like a bell's chime. What on earth was that?

"Strider, that is different to the horses of the Black Riders, isn't it?" Frodo spoke again.

Pansy agreed it did not sound like blood thirsty cloaked ghosts were after them, but putting their rightful suspicions aside would be foolish with nine riders in their pursuit! Shame that the hobbits seemed to share Frodo's hope, and they were not deterred thanks to Aragorn's rather elated expression.

"Who is it then?" Pansy insisted. She would not stay put to become dinner to some trolls or any other hideous creature. "It's not a bloody _traveller_ , on that I hope we all agree."

Aragorn _shushed_ her. Sensitive-stomach-sword-fighter bloody _Muggle_ shushed her! What right does he see in himself to shush her?

Seconds to Pansy going ballistic, the noise of the oncoming horse slowed to a trot and all too soon a white stallion emerged from the thick trees surrounding the Road.

As majestic as the animal was, one would think the rider would not stand a chance for the slightest of attention. Yet Pansy's mouth dried to see the man holding the reins. His broad chest peeked through the thick light coloured cloak he wore. With the hood down, his voluminous silver-blonde hair -longer than even hers!- fell way down his shoulders like a curtain to his frame. He was a handsome man. Even Lucius Malfoy had a crooked nose compared to him! It wasn't only the proportion of his features though; Pansy had to be mad for seeing a psychedelic shimmer beneath his skin. It was as though he was a light-source on his own.

The shiver that shook Pansy was indeed familiar to her. It wasn't because of fright or disdain; there was something prepossessing about being in the presence of a person so good-looking.

"Merlin's beard!" Pansy exclaimed when Aragorn as good as leaped out of their hiding place towards the traveller.

First thing Pansy realized was the glint of recognition in the blonde man's eyes. His mouth moved but words he spoke were nothing like Pansy has ever heard. That was saying something considering that Pansy has heard even Merpeople.

During their exchange Pansy observed the contrast between the two men. From head to toe, Aragorn wore black unlike the blond man who wore creme and white. Aragorn was shorter, Pansy noted, and for a split second she wondered whether her judgement that he was an irresistible man was because, for weeks, the only comparison she had had were the hobbits.

That explained Pansy's uncontrollable infatuation. Back home, she has had so many suitors to choose from that something _childish_ like a crush has never bloomed in her.

Hobbits stirred and one by one left for the Road where the two men stood. Pansy realised Aragorn was calling for them to come out, so she followed the group with reluctance.

"This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond!" Aragorn introduced the blonde man.

"Hail and well met at last!" Glorfindel greeted Frodo, a content smile lighting his face and making him look much younger. _Odd_ , Pansy thought; it had not occurred to her to estimate his age.

Overhearing their chat as she walked closer, Pansy summarised he was from where they were headed: Rivendell. Unfortunately, the wizard Pansy was seeking had not yet arrived in the city by the time Glorfindel left in search for their small party.

"...and I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there—"

His blue eyes stalled on her. It was such an abrupt shift that everyone in the group turned to look at her. Her mother would have sneered to see the obvious blush that flared on her face but Pansy couldn't help it. She was self-conscious. Of course, it wasn't entirely about Glorfindel. When everyone looked at her that way, it was quick to list all her flaws.

Her hair must be a mess. Not that it was knotted or untidy, the brush she had easily transfigured from a rock helped her immensely, but Aguamenti could not do miracles when she was short of soap. Pansy dared not to imagine the state of her unplucked eyebrows, she could not attend to them as regularly as she used to! During the day, the group traveled nearly without stop (even if they took a five, Pansy would be exhausted to lift a finger) and once night came it was a hussle to maintain three spells all at once (two transfiguations and one Lumos; the latter no one liked since a light-source was a risk on its own with riders on their tow). Worst of all, once luxurious and speckless coat she wore was battered and dirt-covered, so were her breaches and blouse. Their fabric couldn't withstand reappliance of spells even if Pansy has gotten better at sewing and cleaning charms in the few weeks that they have been travelling. 

Collecting her arms by her bust, Pansy forced herself to accept that she was better compared to the company. Nontheless, she caught the sight of her nails, too, and cursed the state she was in. Dirt underneath and three of them broken, not to mention the remnants of her last nail paint evident, her hands were ugly. It had been stupid and sentimental to keep the nail polish; but now it was just a hindrance Pansy had no willpower fix. 

Pansy Parkinson was at the worst point in her life -unhygienic, ragged and poor- and there was nothing she could do about it (not that it mattered in the Merlin forgotten place!) ; unless she found civilization that is.

Nevertheless, Pansy managed to collect a semblance of confidence and cocked an eyebrow as she asked, "Is there something on my face?"

Glorfindel did not immediately reply, and when he did, her question wasn't addressed.

"So this time you have come, Pansy Paeonia Parkinson," Glorfindel confessed.

Confused, Pansy asked, "What's that supposed to mean? Have we even met?"

"Unfortunately, there is no time for further news." His eyes lingered on her, not long enough for Pansy to press for substantial information. Pansy huffed. Convenient of him to change the subject.

Sam Gamgee jumped to Glorfindel's attention to Frodo.

"We were attacked, sir. Master Frodo is injured, he can hardly stand!"

True to his word, Pansy saw that Frodo's health had declined. Regardless of the medicine from Bree, their walk to the Road since the afternoon must have worn him out. The little hobbit has blanched, droplets of sweat hung by his forehead while his eyes could hardly focus.

"I'm fine, Sam. I don't feel so… so bad…"

Aragorn immediately intervened, of course. "It happened at Weathertop. We found traces of Gandalf. Lady Pansy proved it—"

In panic, Pansy cleared her throat. "Ahem, ahem."

She would definitely kill the imbecile if he was determined to reveal that she was a witch. Why was it so difficult to understand? Her powers were meant to be secret. A secret!

"—Long story short," Aragorn changed his course and for once, Pansy saw in his eyes a true and meaningful apology.

As he continued to relay their adventure without giving her away, Pansy's relief eased the tension between her shoulders. Last thing she wished was a witch hunt after herself.

Yet some unease hung in the air, especially originating from Glorfindel. Pansy was adamant he knew something about her, and Aragorn's little slip has made it more awkward. Pansy could swear under his long hair, just at the back of his head, Glorfindel must have another set of eyes that were fixed on her.

Pansy didn't like him. No matter how handsome he was.

"There are evil things written on this hilt." Glorfindel's musical voice observed. Pansy recognized the hilt Aragorn had handed to Glorfindel. "Though maybe your eyes cannot see them. Keep it, Aragorn, till we reach House of Elrond! But be wary, and handle it as little as you may! Alas! the wounds of this weapon are beyond my skill to heal. I will do what I can—but all the more do I urge you now to go on without rest.

"You shall ride my horse." Glorfindel spoke surprisingly to Pansy. "You and Frodo Baggins must make haste and ride together. He is not in good shape to ride; with you it will be easier."

"What?" Pansy was incredulous. Oh, she would die to ride that magnificent beast! Her legs and feet were killing her since she learned their trip was to be on foot. However, it would be understatement to say it was a shock she was offered the courtesy.

"Do you know how to ride, Lady Pansy?" Aragorn asked, apparently mistaking her silence as hesitation.

"What now, do you think I'm uncivilized?" Pansy spat but didn't make a move to prove them she could ride.

Glorfindel held the reins in a sturdy clutch while he beckoned Pansy to mount the animal.

"My horse will not let any rider fall that I command him to bear. We, Elves, discipline and share such a bond that our companion's trust is unquestionable."

" _Elves?_ " Pansy asked, not sure whether she had heard right. She searched Aragorn's face to determine how much of a fool they were taking her.

"Glorfindel is of the Elven Folk," Aragorn explained, nodding to her.

" _Oh, fuck me…_ " she breathed out. Pansy glanced back at Glorfindel. Shady or not, no way in hell could Glorfindel share an ancestor with any House-elf! They were different _species_!

Pansy took in the sight of him again from head to toe. Nope. Definitely not.

Looking into his eyes and seeing mirth reflected there, Pansy realised what she had just said.

It's not like— surely they understood what she had meant! Not…. not…. not _that_.

Aragorn's downward gaze explained enough.

Fuck.

"Merlin's beard! Just—whatever!" she spat in anger. Now desiring the route of escape, she walked to the horse in long strides and mounted him masterfully as she has always done. Her own father was no saint, but it was him who had taught her how to ride. He had the mind to raise his daughter so she could put any pureblooded male in their place.

Glorfindel passed the reins without any comments. Pansy nodded her thanks. She would not say that out loud. Definitely not.

The tense silence was broken when Aragorn spoke, "I'll help Frodo up."

"No, Strider. I shall not ride and leave my friends behind to fend off dangers alone. It is simply not possible!"

"I doubt very much," Glorfindel pointed out, "if your friends would be in danger if you were not with them!"

The two kept their gazes a few moments before Glorfindel glanced at Pansy. "The pursuit would follow you-" He faced Frodo once more. "-and leave us in peace, I think. It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril."

 _The ring_ , Pansy understood suddenly. Now connecting the dots, she realised Glorfindel was sending her away with Frodo because she, too, had a trinket Aragorn had suggested to be perilous. Two bloody rings.

 _Fuck me indeed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I know the chapter is rather short, but it was the right place to cut since Pansy won't be passed out like Frodo and we will ride to and walk inside Rivendell together with her! Imagine the drama! Who knows, perhaps Pansy will seduce Aragorn by the time Frodo wakes up in time for the Council of Elrond? I'm excited for that one :D
> 
> I also decided to post to let you guys know that I'm alive, and this story hasn't been forgotten.
> 
> Hopefully all of you are in good health, doing well, and staying safe. Nevertheless, I hope reading this chapter can lift your spirits!
> 
> As always, underlined sentences are from LotR: the Fellowship of the Ring.
> 
> I'll return to all reviews in due time, but every one of you make me smile, proud and the most joyous! I'm happy to be able share a glimpse into my restless brain & imagination! Kisses and hugs!
> 
> Ydream08
> 
> *Excuse any mistake (all mine), I'll edit again later.


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